As you curl up
your smooth buttocks
lazy against my stomach

Many spoons in the sink, and that means it was a dull night, too much coffee and ice cream, not enough foreplay. If there are many forks, it was probably a good night. But most importantly if there were many knives used, it was a great night, even if misunderstandings arose, people 

Noticing now how trees in twilight gather 
closer, more in command than you know them to be, 
snags the eye on advancing time foreshortened, 

Realism means being there, not living some abstract 
life tied up in equity against the possibility of 
tomorrow, all the things we were taught to conserve.

There is a resonance in stone. 
Just put your ear against the grave of one 
You hated because love was difficult to bear.

That it could all come down 
to a man in a room 
empty but for

who came whirling out of the North 
like a locust-swarm, storm-darkening the sky, 
their long hair whipping in the wind like the manes of horses, 

On the pitched rooftop, that one can give
No more mind to the things in the house.
Below in the dim room, that one can see

flickers across the bed.
I reach for you,
brush the hair from your face,

child sprung from
the two of us—showing
us our ideal, the way