Matins


When you are soaked with love,
the dream come true, flesh
meeting flesh, which those two minds
direct; neither from below nor above,
I fold up in you, renewing stealth.

Only as it should be, needing
no comment from us, who speak
in syllables of silence and deceit:
the past a death we live through,
hand-in-hand with each stalled move.

I take your sigh, place the wish
upon my neck; the embrace
sets free both night and day, we
hold the light against dead time:
call the miracle to task again.

©Dean Baker

  https://www.amazon.com/Dean-J.-Baker/e/B00IC6PGQM/

©All Rights Reserved
deanbakerpoetryandsongs.com

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