Archive | November, 2015

Night Waking

5 Nov


In the nights when there was a beloved

by my side in a dark nest, I would wake.

Every night, consciousness would climb into my body

like mist from the autumn lawn.

The lengthening of my limbs would reach

the slope of his sleeping side

and I would roll to the right,

falling across his body like the cat’s curving tail.

I would wind under and around, half conscious,

to open like a night blooming flower. The waking would be slow

… He, half asleep, I, half- adream.

Mouths and arms and breath laced together

far from the red ribbons of dawn.

Darkness and air and then the folding of wings.

Two breasts, one being.

Two heads, one heart.


In the spring, the waking would move forward

into the pause just before sunrise parts its mouth

to kiss the open sky.

Window shades like slow metronomes

would count bird sound and quiet breath

before the world began to move. Fan blades circled slowly…slowly,

light drifts of damp air caressed muslin sheets.

And again I would wake him with my reaching

…skin to skin, belly to belly, chin to chest.

And into early summer, before coffee,

before mornings in rows of herb and tomato vine,

we would tend to the garden of our bodies,

raw and uncovered, rich open ground

speckled pale pink in imperfection.

The smell of love from the furrows of our folding

rose between breaths and blue veins lacing

over blush ribs

and our beating beating hearts.

Lying naked,

we were soul to skin

against the bluebird’s song.

And then,

bare to the bathroom.


My finger presses these moments

as if there was some way to hold

the night long enough to lie between what was and what is.

And like a traveler returning, memory softens the seam of time

into a sleepless dreaming

of climbing a bearded mountain, his shadow now retreating.

A fading fire tangled in cloth and bone,

I still wake at night…

still searching for home.

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