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SLEEPWATCHING
The veins run smooth
& blue
beneath her pale flesh.
Makes me want to kiss
her hands,
kiss the pretty pipes
that pump her blood.
Love cultivates
peculiar whims,
cultivates such cravings.
Love can stare for hours
& never blink.
She smiles in her sleep,
shifts
& smacks her lips.
She smiles in her sleep
& dreams I'm watching.
THE MOON CIRCLES BACK
(for Tami)
In an ancient dream
we were lovers like this
an elemental tugging
down the centuries
earth & sky
fire & water
the salt of our flesh
& the rattle of gravity's chains
In an ancient room
we were lovers like this
giddy with
secrets
the moon
a mute witness
blood & breath
& the rhythm of creation
With ancient hearts
we are lovers like this
timeless & feathered
pagan & drunk
the dust of dead empires
the hope of new night
as the moon circles back
to our window.
SCARS
Whimpering awake
having dreamt
of the blade again.
SUNDAYS ARE HOLY
Sundays are holy for poetry
for morning love & afternoon beer
& all day smoke
smoke all day
eternal like a green goddess cloud
Sundays are holy for remembering our dead
for walking the dog past weak-voiced congregations
for subtle shifts in gravity
a few words breaking free
ascending
dust in the Big Bang's eye
Sunday's are holy for her cooking my eggs
for the feel & flavor of this house
for the cat on my lap
the book on the table
thick fingers on a battered guitar
Sundays are holy for the rain on the window
for the mud in the yard
for the blankets wrapped around us
Indian candles
& again the gracious miracle of her flesh
Sundays are holy for poetry
Never such music in church.
VISITING THE IN-LAWS
Once I fell in love
fell into a dream of marriage
woke up in a house
full of strangers.
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