Last Monday
I wake with your hip docked to mine.
I push on it, my oar a palm at its gunwale, my ear its oak,
aware of the ripples of your breathing
I push on it more, outward like a canoe toward deeper waves
To flow into your body, tenting your knees, your ankles lathed staves
Singing you into a sunflower turn to mix with warmth, to partner to it and guide me by its coursings.
Your eyelids are gluey, but your smile dreams at me, into me
Finding its haven my hands
still pushing you into the deeper
The delicacy of morning’s understories
And the claim they make on tapping, kneading, urgent
Genius of waters’ summoning g(r)asp