the rise of your breath checks the glide
and I lift my hand from your hips
to place my fingers on your lips
stilling the sound of your reply
Four Lines
falling off this corduroyed ridge
my hand slips into that hollow
arch of hip and rib softly slow
gliding lazy from edge to edge
Four Lines
I memorize that curve that shape
begin my search along the edge
of your ribs for that one odd ridge
corduroyed by some football scrape
Four Lines
the real world waits I hesitate
then fill my palm with the curve where
your shoulder becomes bone and rests there
memorizing that shape
Four Lines
something lingers the dream is gone
I stretch fling the covers back—feel
the warmth sliding away—the real
world waits cold as the frosted dawn
Four Lines
when light creeps too slowly near dawn
almost awake dreams flit through sleep
too far from the surface to weep
sadness lingers even though gone
to dance with time
to squander inept without words
meters worth of rhymes with four feet
counted lines unaligned too neat
meanings too vain to be assured
too vain to be assured meanings
waltz to a double-time foxtrot
unaware their two left feet fought
semantic wars with tired schemings
with tired schemings semantic wars
roared thoughtless groaning through the night
weeping—words, we need words for light
to fill our poems’ verse with more
four lines groping through studied rhyme
a quatrain forced to dance with time
Four Lines
chaos yawns mayhem swirls holy
dizzily dazzled color hue tone
sliding it shifts who is alone
near dawn when light creeps too slowly
Four Lines
cracks what’s waiting for you in them
slim horizontal deeps that creep
behind and under feet they seep
yawning chaos holy mayhem
Four Lines
no middle chatter— max to max
millions today tomorrow one
climb for excess slide back to none
what’s waiting for you in the cracks
the crafty sisters 