my friend
from Coeur d'Alene
your eyes are still
full of the lakes
you swam in
as a child.

I can see our breath
when you look at me,
in that blue light before dawn -
those frozen mornings of
grandfathers
and rifles.

I feel seedlings spring forth
out of my skin
when you touch me,
like the earth is dug up
underneath -
that part of time
never left
your fingernails.

my friend
from Coeur d'Alene
the stories you're telling
in your sleep
is a constant motion
of air rushing against
pine needles
in a valley

that sound...
so much different
than the summer air
that's been moving the desert
against stucco houses
in my dreams.

~

07/25/2008

Posted on 07/26/2008
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