mary jane and merlot out on the deck and i
as usual, giggling, pointing and thinking it's all so
silly. traffic never belonged here, two hours south, maybe
another half hour to drive. warm still. listening to each other's
voices. and the air conditioner which i never mentioned
irritates me as much as loose hairs
straggled all over
my face.

where is now and silence, where is this incense and shadow
you speak of calling you to the water, bursting your ventricles
with so much joy? i listen, i burrow under and try to recall:
ah, there is deliverance here, here where i'll always be warm
and looked after. here, where sparrows are tiny guests
to feed with soggy bits of bread. a starling hovers
with wings too easy to split in two, crushed
between thumbs and the smoky plumes  
of a city far away: music calls, it is
so silent here. i cradle my
guitar, sing a winter song
when i shouldn't

bless this night
with earthen
fingers.

fingers to wrap around each story.
moments to cloud this deck with song.