Thursday, September 10, 2009

finally summer



In the last hour of morning

everyone pretends to be asleep,

lying still and heavy as the rising heat.

Finally

your hand reaches from your sleeping bag,

finally

I feel your fingers on my shoulder blade,

they move like a mouse beneath drying leaves.

I am as patient as a seed.

Our eyelashes are the dark fringes

of ferns in the forest

as we pretend to be asleep.


The lake tosses, a fitful dreamer,

summer sprawls open-mouthed.


A cicada calls.

It is the pause in the air

before we kiss.





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