All at Once

The night air is close

               like jasmine tea,

petals pressed in leaves of musty books,

              wistful spun silk.

You

rise like a luminous,

              distant planet

And I blanket myself

over some falling

                   stream,

as you paint the night sky

on my face,

tracing ancient lace trails

with each soft breath;

A sonic gesture

            telling tales

                  of fealty and desire.

Circles into circles,

        a thin weave of skin

Small leaves

        Some drift of acanthus.

Slow rain drops

                 Intently.

Green grey

               The wind.

Your hands press

               Against me,

Dropping my

              Stacked shoulders,

My solitude,

              all at once.

The Hiss of Fossils

Africa is so arid.

We glide over Kenya, where I’ve never been.

The shrubby carpetweed and purslane clump;

outposts of savanna trees seen from our plane.

And the sudden grace of being airborne,

while just walking on clay-pack landfill,

a sunwashed track on a hillock of trash,

the exhilarant height from my head

to the ground,

returns me to that buried child,

diving most earnestly into play.