Early Light

Predawn symphony
of insects delivers us
back to sleep’s soft breath.


There is so little time
in the dark, my arm
draped round
your shoulders,
and yet so much,
throughout the passing
of one night, our bodies
turn this way
and that, fold one another
into the soft cradle
of sleep,
and in a love

that breaks our hearts
and mends them,
sends ripples
down the tunnel
of time and into paintings
not yet dreamed.
Oh, the brevity
of breath inside
a night room,
your hand in mine,
and also eternal.
One brush of lips

to lips adds forever
to the story. I cannot say
how it will end, though
it has already begun –
the moment
our hands pull back
that first curtain of sunlight,
we will already
be making our way
toward the open
window. Life is a balloon
inside us,

a spaciousness
filled by daily breath,
until at last our bodies
are lighter than this life
and we float
into the sky.
In the dark, my arm
folds round you
like a tether. We are timeless
and we are time, quietly adding
to the story of things,
even as we sleep.

The Island

My bed is an island
filled with dreaming,
a white raft to hold
soft bodies that I cherish,

my children,
my lover,
my own treasured and
broken vessel,

sleepy and satisfied
at the end of a day,
each of us afloat
for just a little while

as we travel
through our chapters,
or dissolve
like chocolate

on the tongue.
It is the place
I write alone,
or think of you,

or think of nothing,
an empty mind
on a quiet shelf,
or perhaps a busy heart

so full of questions.
At night we rock
upon our sea
of starlight,

sweet shelter,
skin to sleeping skin,
to remind one another
we are alive.