Anima III

I court you w/ glance & ear
not the spread feathered shuffle
'round the fire
or the tight leap into sky.
I know a man who lives in wait
for the patience to outsit stones.
This is like that.
I will be glad of the day
when I can touch you
& know that my body
does not intrude on yours.
I will be glad when we find the way
our boundaries fit together.

I want to give you
a stand of virgin pine
the size of Northern Michigan,
rivers & the color of the oak in fall,
soft leather, sweet dreams &
a kiss on the lips.
I want to give you everything.
I will write you six perfect poems
bind them into a small book
& put them in your hands.
After all,
who can be so certain
that the tides do not move the moon
contrary to what we are told.