hummingbird sips the silver
alley moon from the perch of its wings
against brick against bluing sky
& i see you wearing overalls &
nothing else—i see you
like a lark in floral print
your voice is different & singing,
i wake up with a voice that is not my own
in this town where weather
gives lessons on indifference & sleep
while i sip whisky dreaming on the
rainspecked boards of the porch
they’ll paint my house this summer
to change the flaking robinseggshell
to sunrise the lavender sky over the lakemountains
you wouldn’t recognize it anyway

& i want to be taxi drunk with you
forget we aren’t trees, grow toward the stars anyway
we can, our roots reach
& i’m playing footsie with you six feet deep

we can’t sunburn here
with our bark but
we can’t leave
even when the wind peels back
the quilt over the lake in the morning
so you can see everything from the firescape

i want to see your body
(you don’t have to show me)
i want to see you dance in the rain
smelling of gentle white blossoms
magnolia flesh quivering in the first drops of summer
the short translucent hairs standing
under the weight of rivulets dancing between curves
sometimes i wonder if i’ll ever see you naked
(i imagine you in a 1940s shower
black and white; crystal clear silver screen)
you are not so remote
nor so perfect
i want to let my touch stumble across
your delicate bruises
the lavender caresses brushed in lace
gilding dagger-edged aching
(but you are not nearly so brittle)