by Zoe Richardson
(12/10/03)
Your touches are lingering twilight,
purple-smudged on valley edges.
Your fingers walk like trees on the spines
of my back, porcupine tickles and teases.
Your mouth is a separate place,
a quiet dwelling in the rushes.
Otter-sleek, your tongue slides into hollows,
hides, and seeks a maple sweetness.
Your hands are webs and nests
places to come home. Rest beneath
The protective shell of knuckles and fine bones;
a network of skill and grace.
You are my native land, and I
am new territory to conquer and claim.
Together we make a new-leaf bed
in the treetops of encroaching night.
The Poet's Companion - by Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux