Night, wide-brimmed,
settles wild wanderings
in our early
American hearts, fatigue
live chains
loathe to lift themselves
yet imperceptibly intertwined
in our legs again. Let’s lie down
by the stream (she knows
she’s older than her name)
and sink in. The poems
we speak in sleep,
thick with reeds and wet
with recent rains, may camouflage
our foreign origins. The moon,
she is a soft lens.
Category Archives: February 2010
I Am the Sea
I listen to myself
before falling asleep
and the waves
press dark dreams
into my cheeks—
months of rain,
you away—
Only the gulls’
morning calls
pull me awake.