The sheets do not talk. The warm breeze
does not know that autumn is near;
The language of premonition
Is burrowed like a fossil in my pillow.

While seated in meditation
You walked past my shut eyes,
My face in peaceful repose,
My still body, more still than a garden.

As the first light stirs
Not a single word is spoken:
Your arms seek me beneath the covers.
My soul finds you beyond the clouds.

I love you, though it pains,
And the pain to me shows
Exalted mountains, expansive plains
Where once I chose
To lie, somnambular and closed.

The wind sweeps like a broom
Through my lungs,
Like a meek old lady, in a half-lit store, closing shop.

It is overcast today. I feel a calm
That makes me tremble with life.
Enjoy the sky, but know that
The heart is a molecule of water.

My life is more than my life,
More than possession can define.

My life is your life:
Because of you I refer to things as ours.

Who would topple the pillars
Of his heart to be a lover
In the rubble?

Who would resign himself
To a fate of apple skins
And compost?

I went looking for overflowing dreams
And lost them in shadowless days.

Someone let the children roam
And forgot to call you back.

Praise me with the love in your eyes,
Clear, like water in a beaker,
So that I may measure myself against you.
For sound only makes the water bubble,
And words are the worst praise I’ve ever heard.