It was a hootenanny morning:
  yours, the bed unmade
  and the light in a quiet spiral.

  There's an island in view.
  We're wishing the salt waves
  welcome. A wind lifts

  the love from my tongue
  and spills it, like crazy, into
  your echo of mouth.

  It was a day for brocade:
  yours, while the wild birds
  skedaddled the sky.

  And there were dancers
  arching their arms

  when we held our frantic hands
  and rode the white tides westward.

From the book Love Poems