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Description
I am the sound of rain on the roof,
but only after you have fallen
asleep. in the morning
I am the swallow singing outside
of your frosted windowpane

and when I slip away on a streak
of moonlight you remain all around me,
my slowly blinking satellite.
just when I think I am secluded
in my own constellations,

you scoop me up in the Little Dipper,
skate me across Orion’s belt and up --
Up on Pegasus’s wings -- black curtain
of night parted like your lips.
and then there are

the little things, but let us not discuss
windswept hair and sun-strewn
eyes and celestial fingers: --
after all, I am already
over the moon.