Thick noon air spreads across
the grassy mossy cracked top soil,
and into the holly-ringed swale:
time gathers presently in the cool fox den,
teasing a rough woof from the local rottweiler.
The moon is a pale rival
for wide daylight sneaking behind night.
Warm on the back patio, the gardenia
sits and slowly sheds its ice white blooms.
There are so many reasons to look at you,
your face a full sky scudding clouds,
like I could divine from the lines at your lips
that there is a lake in the future,
no matter how darkened by rain.
Your eyes have become my science,
I study the experimental motion of your limbs
and the charted tables of your voice.
Curled under my lungs, you heat each breath
and pull from my heart the blood
that just flows back,
whetting what would be dull
with a dog-like shake of wet life.