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Cloud, birdfoot, common blue. Blush in your sex,
Bruise on my chin. Chalk dust and moth wings. Quiet
Under sycamore. My face pressed to bark.
Squish of toes in spring mud. Stillness after.
River rising beside, we hear the call—
More silence than whisper, smell of first rain
Never leaving my palms, tongue. We love like
No other blooming. Never trillium,
Angel’s trumpet, beebalm. First warm wind, new
Fuzz on your chin. Slant of light, your long hair,
If only, only to hold hands walking
Down the dirt road. Somewhere a deeper shade
Of blue. Backs of your knees cup like petals,
Filled with salt. These long nights of rain, what thirst.