Sunday, July 11, 2010

Pope Pius I

I wake up in the middle

of the velvet night to hear

the stones of our foundation

moaning under our weight.

It started like this: First, your eyes.

That hand on the small of my back.

I took a swan dive back into

myself. Your fingers ruffled my

feathers on the way down.

Then came the pull

of tin-can telephones,

the sagging weight

of distance between us.

I left the lights on to sleep.

I covered up with

every quilt I owned.

Now I wait for the tumble

of this house we’ve built.

I wonder how the windowpanes

will sound as they hit the street.

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