Thoughts for My Sleeping Wife


I find you in your new skirt. Sleep
has usurped your best intentions.
Nemesis. Nymph. Friend.
Faint breeze in curtains wheels
the afternoon in spangles
across bed and wall--game figures
wandered to cheeks and lashes, earthy fingers
curled in the act of clasping or release.

I wonder if you would know me here.
Accidental brush of hair or lips
could start you from miles of rippled grass,
stiff sailed clouds, palominos nuzzling
strands, forehead laid in drowsy clover.
That meadow I once burned, or tried to, you said.
I can't return. Or don't know how.

You stir and the breeze falls back again.
Still small fires return in their cycle
passing like stars across your eyes.
I recognize you now, would know you if
you woke imperfect and inculpable
ready to speak the few good words,
hoping you're still mine.

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