(circa 25 April 2004):

In the simmering summer Sundays

my heart turns into a valise carried lightly ready for the anythinganywheres;

Wispy fledglings know how brittle the morning in summer breaks the grasses,

the river tongue laps timid wingspan laying panty-clad under featherfan air moist and vericose, skin precipitates salty crystal invisible

stars lap them mouths engirth cresty flesh creases & maws escape kisses long enough for prattling on

and on

about making love strabismic watching me watching you

watching our body

meld waves nearing swallows’ plumes gusting in arches I swallow salts of…

Sunlight hours’ heats subside

and

we

rise,

to do your laundry and our dishes.