by Anne Bryant-Hamon
Maybe I am awake before dawn
so I can imagine the sound of water
that will soon rush over his hands,
then trickle spontaneously through his fingers,
run down his abdomen in rivulets
and pool around his beautiful feet.
I consider the mingling of H2O with his DNA
spilling into the white porcelain sink,
how the microscopic blueprint of him
will quickly travel down a copper drain
trailing off to a secret place
hidden below the common ground we share.
The scenes in my mind are circles of springtime,
ripples of melted winter washing over my thoughts.
They leave me helpless as a pale green moon
in the faint light of this cool, March morning.
I will wait for a red sky at night – sailor’s delight.