Monday, June 15, 2009

Back on Turtle Island

a poem found by the side of the bed

there is nothing like
a cold glass of
water after waking from a dream
and surely as the damp pastel
of night leaks through your parting eyelids
a summers solitude will fill your head
with blades of reality and swirling
unanchored images.

and between your dream-stained sheets
you found a shred of what you loved about me;
how i could build a framework
of your mind 
and as you sipped 
a sweaty glass i returned the stories
to the lining of your throat.