Whispers

I am a whisper.
Of storms through your skin,
the desire-rain
across your inner thigh.

You are a whisper.

Of buttons slightly untamed,
the lightning-window
inside a metal frame.

This pinprick in our shadow

reveals a minor flow,
like hearts caught in a spiral
where the wind ascends.

And if dust settled

on 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,
the dream-pathos
exhausting your sleep.

Until then, you are a whisper.

Of thoughts shutting my eyes,
the curtain-stage
hiding these theatricals.



(From the book Selected Poems 2004-2007)