And after it was over we lay on the swag
dreamlike, discussing the happy face cloud
how one illuminated a seahorse
across the 11pm norwestern sky.
Easy prey
– the hottest day in 70 years
a power outage silencing our space
candles and some satellites
and then there is I love you.
Those clouds, how they claimed us
moving above and over our bodies
by the breeze that dried our heat-wave sex.
There was lightening too.
It was like writing a poem.
Or reading one.
An exceptional one.