Blanketing

I lay down in the snow
of another Connecticut winter
and remembered the night we slept without fear,
her chin resting on the bridge of my nose,
legs intertwined, our bodies pressed close.
Memorizing her in that moment,
not just hearing her sleepy sounds
but listening for them,
the scar on the side of her lower back,
and the way her sternum curved against my ribs.
I think this is how death must feel,
to be held by the earth, covered over by falling snow.
And if I close my eyes and hold my body just right,
I can still feel hers.

**

Sunday

Alone I walk
into the last hour
of a February night
and fall to my knees
beneath the stars.
The grass, thirsty
Underneath me,
I hold it in my hands
and understand
what it is to pray.
Early camellia blooms shudder.
against the wind, the way I did
when you danced barefoot
on my toes and said you loved me
under a porch light.

**

Sitting on a Boat Dock in North Georgia on the 6th of July

Just to the left
the amber sun sinks
into a seam of mountain,

pink striations highlight
tree lined peaks
and the underbelly of clouds.

Hydrangea move behind me
in a cool breeze
and water laps against stone.

There is beauty in leaving.

The passing of summer,
the last hour of night, dark amethyst
gives way to morning,
my body alone,
I pray I do not waste this life.

**

Saturday

Three miles straight
up and a little
to the left
through limp leaves
of drought
starved brush,
knotted hardwood roots
coil together
in a snake like stairway
down to the clearing
where you turned
to look back at me.
There was salt on my lips.

**