Idyllwild Dreaming III
7:30am
You watch her watching you:
hazel eyes, less Catalina
than Chesapeake.
A finger sweeps her hair,
curtains thrown open, or
peeled, half-lumed;
the line of day drawing slowly
a wedge, olive and shining
on her back and
spread;
her hips
in the quiet
throb of freeway, of
her watching you
hum, as you slide—
carpet and gauze
—asleep.
I never know what to say about your poems, because I’m not a poet; I adored “Poem for Dan” and “7:30,” and the image of a painter’s dropcloth was fantastic. Can’t say anything other than: I really enjoyed reading these!
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