Let me touch your green, when you
cry under the sun.
I’ve waited for the leaves to
wear out of our wall
while centuries have gathered
under your eyes.
Your wholeness makes my freedom some vacuum,
bowls of blood, undisturbed. Mere ripples.
Will you let me intrude? My safe thumb can run up your
shoulders, into your chest of
fate, and wisdom.
I’ll whisper to you in your sand,
when your summer sleeps.
