Waking with a sore head
A freshly bruised shin,
Forgetting the collision:
Eyes open and see
With relief, my coat on a hanger.
The early light that slants
Warm from the curtain illuminates
The skin of your face,
Glittering all over like a lake in a light wind —
The eyelids, those fine
Horizontal folds: like cliffs by a lake
Layered and loaded with flowers.
When my skin was as smooth as
A jamjar of water
I looked for time in my father’s eyes:
Brown and green circling,
A bead of yellow under the corner
When no part of my body
Was more private than a fish
Going round and round in a jamjar of water.