In a different season now
walking among the clippings of giant beasts
that live in the woods 
and hide behind trees

and birds
and their positions of power,
the barn swallow on a branch, 
can i count the ways I love you?

sitting there, tucked under a tree, 
people pass and must ask

"how can two people look so sad, sitting there
tucked underneath a tree" 

to feel like moss is the wish of lovers, 
absorbed and unmoving, as the giant boulders
sitting on a beach, and the pebbles below rounded smooth

I do not conceal these and other things well, 
I wonder
"what does her face look like now?"

In a different season I found no answer

only of birds singing
and their positions of power

the barn swallow on a branch, 
can I count the ways I love you?

In a different season, 
I have found no answer.




Reading to one another
through the night
in perfect cadence under moonlight

loons call out from across the bay
running endless ripples of the 
moon speckled black

and of our near sleeping bodies
in a space we wish to occupy- 
a moment within eternity

but it is only one loon call in the dark
that slowly settles itself
under whispered breath

It is what brings us to sleep 
and allows us to awaken-
two near bodies in perfect cadence under moonlight

" As we whisper, reading to each other..
our quietly heaving bodies conform to the rock..."

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