Grace & Mercy
-If the only prayer you say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough.
He marks down his friends, his books.
The good nights of us all. That deep breathing
in the womb of the bed while the moon maintains
its buttery presence overhead.
The dark dissolving from the horizon the light
seeping in earlier than the alarm, pillows akimbo
against the window.
Resist and cede.
The well-rested face of a child.
The collection offered at the end of a workshop.
The lean to share. Fingers entwined.
Whiskey brought by a translator.
Light chat with the man I had dreamt of
in his role as researcher, archeologist, poet. Sopping
up fresh blood with my spongy bog flesh.
For that, too.
A picnic planned for December. Tonight,
a woman of letters, four decades before her
time. The blue garden tea forming
its perfect dark bowl of floral heat. Last night,
me, the sea I could only hear, its inky catch.
Unhook the line, lips to lips. The jumps
on the dock, to and fro.
Possibility. The 94-year old who has always woken
at 2am thanks to it. A floor covered in a Bedouin
rug and a gift of a flying carpet strewn