Grace

Desires are daily, consolation

sufficient as suburbs

where we walk by night, past unstoppered gardens

through degrees where edges kiss

but not ostentatiously.

When night's thigh gleams

its covers pave us

we will go ahead, daughters of a day's espousals.

Our shining adjustments make us

thankful as hands.

When a sky bowl so dark is placed above us

even the moon's conquered surfaces

can steer our disparities

our repetitions, like magnets, like iron.

This wanting is almost a substance

bright as our silver vestibules

lithe as postcards scripted by hand.

We anticipate the approach of rivers, wars

damage, orders

arrested at times like an expended flame

unplugging sky from its dark retinues

shattered jewels, unmoored as desire

comes into us, between order & license

and lodges along a path of blossom.

Curves & poles of love cannot be replayed

across stolen distances of light fields.

Can we leave ourselves without

so many barriers

soft beds, gifts in our bodies

our constancy?

Though we are determined by difficulty

time demands we travel with our senses

widened by contact

all the collected arguments

uncertainties that thwart our silence.

Something agitates our fluidity

confessions, disturbances

we make openings darker

than we imagine

find we are more resilient against

the manners of each other's body.

We dabble our feet, shudder

as though there's a hole in the door.

But what we have said is amongst plenty:

navel, liquor, neck

thighs, jewels, eyes.

Taste the crimson galleries.

I will go here, within a circle

even if nobody represents us

this graceful art, yet difficult in effect.

What we return to - stature of pleasures

palms, beams, boughs

perfumes our sleeping lips.