followed my wanting
the sun wet on you.
wants to know if
there is a question in this.
whereabouts I sit.
this is a pretty
good language
wouldn’t you say?
we remember those days
before we met.
it was july how the trees still stood
but differently for not knowing
of you, or the you in me,
which must always have
been the exact paces
that brought us.

I hear you in the bath
resonating coordinated gestures

Then I wash my waterfall of moons
low beyond your garden

your fingers imagine meeting me
at the end of our bed

you have birds for teeth
turned as sideways rain

the field sounds coming inside through glass
waving bright ribbons

echoes that come through a window