purity

and in the morning we sat,
arched in our chairs, a coffee cup with two parts creamer
restful morning papers and sunlight,
comes through sunday windows

you are bathing, and holiness comes,
like o'hara poems and stories that live on,
only in the mind where calm and anxious eyes are birthed
with books for midwives, we scan the treeline
looking for some sign of growth that doesn't
add to the wreckage of old days and lives we left alone
these years ago, before cadence and meter came into play
and our choices were counted out, jsut like
coins from wishing fountains

we've become wet fingers and fidgets
moved only by sighs and afternoon reports,
fromt eh warzone territories, downtown, where life happens and goes forth
they are so many hapless cases
with shut eyes, here in sunday motel rooms
after late breakfast and you, shinning angel, are laying on the bed
crying your fragile eyes out
i say fragile, though they're well worn in by now
to mean that your are fine temperate zones, loose fitting clothing arrangements

it is easy, in mornings of tea and cake
low cholesterol and hyperbalance
i'll lay here with you, a few minutes more
where you belong in my arms and
i belong where you are watching me slowly,
the way you do, like we do, here
sunday sun brimming over the curtain line
"no service" signs and quietly you smoke a cigarette, my heart turns to ash
while reading the morning paper.

2004-06-22 | 6:47 p.m.
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