And Pears and Plums
Some chords remind me of your tongue,
the way you inhale air
between your teeth and out of your nose,
as if you were made of lava,
while I was born at sea.
Those elevated moments sit
as cathedrals unfinished,
unlit by lamplight,
from balcony perches
where half faces are seen, scuttling,
in half cut moonlight.
I tap my bare feet,
as if I've known the songs that play,
virginly heard, lifetime long,
on and on
in a time we couldn't escape.
You're in those low toned spaces.
tethered to them.
We acknowledge each other, homing,
between high notes and pauses and like great winter birds we're free-er
Written on the fly to Bassti's Oranges in Winter and Eileen Ivers' Apples in Winter