You took me in the sun
to your home-
town, to the tidal
marsh, to the bridge
where you jump
into me.
___
a great blue
heron stills
___
Once there was a door
that jammed
at the thought of itself.
You open the door
to reveal a gate you open
to another door—
The morning sun
slants into me,
a sharp fire in crisp air.
By night,
I was ashamed to cry
into your chest.
___
At sea, conifers climb roughhewn
rock of islands. Upstream, plovers
pipe the ploughheads of beaks
into mud for invertebrates. Can you
see trees walk? Can you see beneath
the mud, into the fishhold word
plover? Can you see a door’s
fleshhood swell against its jam?
___
___
The in-tide will return,
you will
___
& the firs cling
to their island rocks.
& the herons release
their jeweled shames.