for A.

You are in bed as I call. And here
the water is pouring in the darkness from the lips
of this flow-form as each petalled layer
swings its content back and forth
two sides of a vesica, making love, infinite.
I hold the phone to the water, you all ear.

The great sycamore rises lit as if in moonlight
from the house's adjacent porch light
like the Tree of Life itself; trunk and branches soaring, strong.
I wander down the dark incline of the grass
as we talk of the heart, its tentative reaching
as clear in what it knows; your face there
luminous and bright, known and unknown.

The light in your voice, your words
as lucid because they're you, I tell you
as we pause before we say goodnight…and still
the water is sounding as you settle
stretching your body invisibly and turning
into the woman-waters of your sleep.

19th August 2011

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