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After Love in AugustI hear your breath trickle,feel your body sounding. You're missing a dénouement—but it's all right; I am wordless in the dark, nothing to know, no opinions to need, only the undersound, the tiny sonatina of katydid and tree. I love the whispered register, the hushing steady hum of crickets, leaves, grass breathing, this harvest, these dreams. I've been reading Stevens; last night I dreamed his syllables stroking my thigh. I glide remembering both of you. |
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Issue #15, April, 2000 :
Santa Fe Poetry Broadside.