that you are
after all
who i wish i had become,

       (i do not know you)  .

the lips neither the mouth nor
teeth between neck.

i kiss,
and again
i am not you.

i make after the rain
my skin to run
with rivulets of sun.

i do not live early
or sweet between you.

i do not make the small sound
of your breath
inside my own breath.

but, after all, i have my son.

and what more is there than that?

nothing.

and perhaps
(after all)
he shall be
who i wish i had become.

my wife,

you are my flesh,
within your flesh:


            (my son)

who sleeps within you.

i love you that you are me,
and i am you;
inside your body
which sleeps beside me.

slee  ep.  .   .

              
                though

             you
                   are

                           awake


i am alive in you;


      (in thy body–

          and amongst thy leaves

            i am naked and fragrant )



i am touching the cool spine
and the cambered wrist;
lightly mute, **** and bruised
with dark veins.

your cheeks are pale;
your eyes are soft–
hugely brimming
with neat darkness.

you come over the mouth.
you hold the breath
between delicate fingers.

you are nearly kissing,
each nearly moment of body.

you move with quick slowness:
never rushing,
never uncarefully treading.


((s l ee p..   .

though

         you are alive;


i am awake in you.

                                       )

                                       )

who again is this place?

(i see you there--alive and sleeping;
amongst white flowers)

i kiss you lightly.

i am sorry for all the things i have done.

i will love you always.

goodnight.

i am
(after all)
alive in you

                       this day .

the soft brushing,
the course fiber,
the flaxen hair.

i kiss you smally.

you do not stir
more than a pale breath
around your nostrils.

my son is inside you.

i will always love you.


(...sleep)

within thy white
thy flesh hath fold,
where fingereds tight
and girl is told.

this makes sleeping,
inside your slender,
the beginning song of life:

my lip;
the shoving of sudden fur;
your own quaking;
and the collapsed nerve.

and the each new little thing of it
(ever day)
makes life in smooth jolts.

love as a woman,
who wears within,
our love in something

very alive,
quickly with 10 fingers
10 toes and grows
inside that hive
where my love as flesh
has lingers.