A space has opened; not
a wound – but a field
of wheat, yellow ocean,
golden sea – our bodies a ship.
In the distance three red flags
beat wildly in the wind.
Our furious kisses become
two white sails pushing us on.
When we love –
King David writes another psalm
and King Solomon
another song, while we collect certain
tendernesses from each other eyes
– like rations for a long journey,
for all the severe days, that will follow
and for the journey to the innocent
cities that we dream, that we have
drawn gently on each other’s