for D. Summer country. In the morning the leaves bend to the window and fold the house in. Mountains and sun. I fold the blankets, hand smooth. When you’re here I know it. The sun crosses the hand’s breadth— and in your face the unenterable image. Under your eyelids night unfolds. Pull the blanket over you and with it the darkened air.
from Somehow. copyright 2005.
(I know I posted this last year, but . . .)