Of storms through your skin,
across your inner thigh.
You are a whisper.Of buttons slightly untamed,
inside a metal frame.
This pinprick in our shadowreveals a minor flow,
like hearts caught in a spiral
where the wind ascends.
And if dust settledon the swan’s bones,
a quilt-sky could rise
from this field of poppies.
Until then, I am a whisper.Of night tangled in vines,
exhausting your sleep.
Until then, you are a whisper.Of thoughts shutting my eyes,
hiding these theatricals.
(From the book Selected Poems 2004-2007)