Waking in the morning,
though it may well be night,
& opening the window
or walking through the door
or feeling the grass
under your backside
or perhaps even
between your teeth,

do you hear your own voice
the birdsong in your ear?

do you hear the same voice
the vibrant silence
of my closed
those of a virgin
about to flower?

toe deep in dirt
mother earth's song
emerges through the flow
of ink said red
& bloodlike enchants:

"wherever you are you walk
through the (w)hole of my heart
& engrave upon each of its beats
the complete trust
of each footfall's print"

& what wondrous invitations
these steps along the way are
for the weather to come stormy
& clear the sheets of the moment
of the evidence of our intimacy
& draw us into love-making
with our love-being ever
for the first time
once again



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