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Morning's Shoulder
In the shoulder of the morning I,
Kissing her arms sweetly awake,
Find a cradle in her warming
Eyes, missing the drowning lake
For the dream-waters, sleep waning,
The sighs, this is what I take:
No lies, the listening birds spake
Of swamps becoming the bell,
Claiming a drake, taunts and promises
Coming to tell, saying of time's curious chaos,
A simple ache sated with kissed arms,
Hearts flaying sleep in scarred windy ash;
Morning's shoulder is the song of the non-
Abashed mystic, sandy-eyed joyful couples
Saying their goodmornings in silent crash.
