That coral-vermillion moon half ....
shuttered light-well to Oz
captivated me all night:
upon a ledge that has become comfortably edge-like
. . . what is it ?
is it Fall ... ?
ding dong the witch is dead fall ?
it is more
this otherworldly tincture of days
this moonglow spell of night
casting ancient dreams from yellow school buses & winged horses
constellations shift shadows into suspended seconds
laced to underwear & footballs
A longing to be 15 .. ok ... maybe 16
lanky & full with secret words of lace in my pockets
in grass, on beds, on bikes, in rivers . . because we are young
you are 17 with tamed arrogance & mahogany bones
the milky way & every nasturtium belong to us
I know what you look like in mornings and can smell you on my fingers
innocence seeds trust long fired in the bowels of mordor & mirth
bodies are lithe & limber twined naked and easy
our tongues play cribbage against lips pink & curious & sure
paused on backs flat upon earth sumac-red-deep
suddenly. . .
the electric panes of glass slide