2River View, 5.2 (Winter 2001)
Your back long
and pliant against me in bed; that
is the heart of it. Holding you, I let go
and drift off, loose, threads
fanning out over water.
What's repeated in the morning
is your cool sweetness, freckled and smooth.
I hold you like the back
of my cello, that at my chest
sang its warm phrases, why did I ever
stop playing? Sometimes we don't
knowwhy we turn away
from what, despite everything, sustains us.
Music and imagined music.
I don't have any answers. It's still true
that when I hold you what I feel
is light your chest keeps instead of words,
leading and clear. So in my arms,
like your laughter, let the light
escape into my body when you turn
your shoulders. Morning is your lips and eyes.