Friday, April 22, 2005


The sheets still
in the bed where I knew you.

The formula for landscape
is one-third sky two-thirds land:

the lumber-wanting forest
turns itself carnal.

In the love scene
the cool breath of bed sheets lifts

and my heart is a muscular door stop
shifting under your hand,

the sheets remaking me.
Through the door

the unstopped night
will come. The bed

soon inclement and bleached with snow
will still. While reading

I will concentrate on the falling asleep
I must do. My body

is a tunnel I hide in whenever the sky
turns particular.

You buy clothes to wear
that have never touched the skin

of other men. I take
a picture about it.

Date Unknown

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