We swam in tall grasses,
frolicking freely inside a green bubble
that only grew a warmer amber with time.
So quiet, our cries of the joy of release
were answered by just a few curious crows.
It’s winter now for both of us,
arms beating at a battering wind
as if we could ever make a difference.
I’m extraordinarily content
and the only thing I can figure
is our wanting warms the air around us
and something inside can’t help
but be touched
and carry us through darkness
to where it stays amber and green.

1.

A synthesizer moaned of
vicious isolation and they
were stranded like limpets
after the tide deserted them.

The tide was built from thick,
wavy shag, a joy to toes
seldom spread but rooted.

2.

Salt and pepper static
made dingy walls glisten;
angels seldom visit idle industry.

3.

Minutes wavered to and fro,
formerly proud flags
commiserating about loss of
country or pride,
whatever the semantics.

4.

A stale, cold smell of
morning burned its way
through orange dawn-
a poor herald of beginnings.

The dawn was absolute,
fixed, a menacing squeezed
in fisted sheets.

The reach of bare limbs
across snowy fields
where things live beneath;

we sit inside
licking lips
over creamed pastries
in the funeral basket.

Bumps along genetic material
herald change in the form of
tom-tom beats
and blown unicorn horns

Listen: as skin gathers
something like grace takes shape
of rivers converging

An ancient truth squeezes
its way to form whatever fits
into a new fist
so it can be dropped again

My sweetheart knows
wind will not stay on the hilltop
and our dance shifts with the sun

In a little pocket of night,
I cup my hands around
my mouth and breathe deeply
in, out
like a whisper of a name
while visions fill me of treetop flight
and his lips on mine
softly
and for a few moments
I am held
before light intrudes.