WHEN the weather breaks, stand before
the unquilted stretch of land and gaze directly
across into your lover’s eyes. Resist the half-second
instinct to blink.
for designing earth too hard to chop. Remove the
gloves of shame. Clip the nails of fear. Fall,
in unison, to your knees. Fertilize the earth with
dissension. Plot vegetables and flowers
and talk about the colors that will
bloom. Water often with fluid from
a red, red heart.
imperfection. When needed, rest in solitude
near the tree-rooted corner. Surrender
to the half-second instinct to blink.
work steadfast till night’s star-nailed,
pewter close. Lie in your lover’s arms. Gaze
once more into his eyes. Anoint each other
Sleep in the
dream-blossomed embrace of rich harvests
to come. Crack open fever-bright
eyes and awaken to morning’s
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