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 Love Poems