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
its gait
to wait
in the shallows
poised
watching for
shadows
to wend
the cold
currents
under
the surface
___
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.
___
___
the gulf
between
stasis and
patience
gapes
awaiting
water’s
return
or the calendar
days I count
until
it is humid
between us
until you
jump into
the water
until I
again can
warm
my ear on
your neck
___
The in-tide will return,
you will splash, the drops
will kiss the earth
with diamonds.
At home I open all the doors
to let in sea-liquor, wind,
songs of the birds whose
names I have yet to learn.
___