The Secrets of Privacy
I enter the dark orchard
to embrace the quiet, branches
wet with winter and waiting
over the fence or sometimes through the gate
depending
Unclenching the fist of what
fear from our lungs open slow gills
in this dark night alive
as the sea--
I ride her
back
to a place before fences, before
and yet remaining when the last ambition dies
When I hear the gate rattle
it is the comfort of activity without
apparent purpose, calm in self-containment
random as wind, wild
as my own.
When I Kiss You
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