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  • for Ed

    Here is pleasure:
    morning has slowed enough
    for me to catch her up.
    We tussle there
    as if I’ve lighted on an open parachute.
    Slowly, I catch at her silk and sway, drift.
    My eyes: I open them.

    Where last month a total room had been awash in light,
    now, gray shapes.
    In the folding quarter year
    I roll late in dusky dawn,
    gray paws kneading at the bottom pane.
    We tussle there.

    Disembarking from my creampuff bunk,
    dreams tumble away.
    My thoughts, a stream,
    sluicing into, diluting night’s mystery,
    the water moving – now slow, now slow, now
    Ripples, now currents picking up,
    now geese flying noisy overhead,
    now tumbling, now turning on the bank,
    I am swift with her.

    Stop. Stop, now.
    My body finds you.
    We tussle there.
    The wild geese veer above, alarmed and tardy:
    they plead in a V.
    And I rise,
    rise.
    I, too, am late.
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