Breathe in, sun-dusted hour,
chirps and clicks of a world that precedes us.
Ancient sun, eternal moon. If I only knew
I could meet you, warm bodies under the pines.
The heaviness of flesh, heavenly transport.
How could I finally touch what I’ve conceived?
Light flickers through branch-slats, imprisoning
all our old ways over the soft-needled ground.
Breathe out as bars pin us down, finally.
Gold tongue telling me what I think I know,
the music I pull from you, light from bone.
Jays and woodpeckers angling through
warm woods of my making. The poems
aren’t as good now, now that I almost know
your gold eye giving you away from afar.
Still apart, we stare at the same cold moon.