I will always know the way of you.
You throw the blankets off your legs,
your sigh and irritated rocking,
the thump of your heel on the bed
when you say "no-o-o...",
when I ask "can I do for you?"
I know your inside story.
You did not ask for the work of me.
You guard the father, you wash my things—
breath over the pines, be for this time!
and soar to rest, atop up-turned cliffs,
far above the en-mired, settling sea,
the green-gloved sea a last sun reveals,
and far below, a moment of peach glows,
an arc of otters, at play in breakers,
and just you,
and just me,
we lie in purpled shadow
under ancient wild vine bowers
as Venus, Venus rises, rises over the stillborn seas
and we kiss, we pair, we you's, we me's,
we as Venus 'flected, bright beads sideways
our love is not work, not always
you, a light, a beam, an arm, like no other.
Martha's Vineyard, April 1, 2012, atop Aquinnah cliff, above the otters