I pull from your hair A ribbon of shining water, And turn my parched Desert face to your Liquid lips, to your Dolphin eyes, to your Honeyed tongue.

I strip bare everything We wear. I press my Stony ribs into your Breasts of gloaming. I press you into my Body, your quick laughter, Your crystal innocence, Your godawful moaning.

You gouge your name On my back with your Oyster nails. I redden Your pearl body with The rust of my lips. You core through my hips. Fountains leap from My fingers. You enter My center, become My whirling center.

Waters of the creek Flow from under This bridge hauling Light of this fading Day and its long hours,

In whose shadows I have wandered Among fossil fires Of upturned roots, Between the flakes Shaken from snow Clad firs, through The open grave Of winter into which Sunlight fell all day,

Looking for the word, Which perhaps could Hold everything I want To speak to you:

A brown envelope With your address scrawled On it, covered with foreign Stamps and postmarks, Resonant of those sounds Which don’t mean anything Per se; laughter and weeping.

I have failed. Listen to the waters.

Behind me, starting At the door, tracks In the snow, stalking Twilight warming Its hands out west, At the very edge Of sightless distances.

In front of me, unburied, A hedge of winter jasmine, Its profusion of yellow Dots standing for something Unsaid and unsayable.

And between these two A brown tomcat is yawning.