And That Language
And that language that parts the future from the past
the poet slips into, two people the same pulse
the sounds around the poem—was it September?—
saxophone and mandolin sounds on the radio,
a grammar of trees in the wind in the leaves
in ecstasies of grace, this company of love—
you, at first sight; you—a language,
the softest touch a language; beauty’s
eyes, your eyes, unclose me anywhere I am.
