A Spring Morning
Your right hand and my left
Hand, as if they were bodies
Fitting together, face each other
As if we were dancing. But
We are in bed. The thumb of your
hand touches my cheek. My head
feels the cool of the pillow.
Your profile, eye and ear and lip
Asleep, has already gone
through the doorway of your dream.
The round-faced clock ticks on,
On the shelf in dawnlight.