Monday, November 9, 2009

Ciommuning With the Day

caressed by sheets
she senses satin yet unaware
that her skin, her fingers, the patina of the sculpture
she was born in
are the sensors
eyelashes like barometers
sense the lightness of the morning

a quick rub into the pillow
crosses the lamina of mighttime
opens her face to light sound air
muscles flex shoulders spread thighs extend

who am the I that receives this day
what do I long for before life blocks the way

Eyelash whiskers feelthe crisp air
Summer languor long squeezed out
Toes check for November chill
All senses say "This is a different day."
this is a late fall play day

her body calls impatiently to her soul
playmate is ready
choose my shoes shorts tops
celebrate the late fall sun with cutoffs
and too big too short sweat shirt
"Let me drink in the garden
Let me massage myself with the woodland sun"
every cell anxious to play
hooky today

1 comment:

  1. If only I could ediot oiut the typio in the tiotle...