The wind that starts from nowhere,
The same that bends the pasture,
Is the whispering voice of my lover;
The hollering voice of the cowherd,
Call and response to the cattle,
Is my lover’s quickened pulse;
The breath of sweet pollen,
Exhaled from May orchard grass,
Is the same as my lover’s breath;
The black hose, mistaken for
A black snake in blue grass
Is only my lover’s arm, roped over me in sleep;
The gapped boards of the barn door,
Imperfect beneath a Saturday sky,
Is my lover smiling;
The fox, darting only to turn,
Staring, ears tufted like rose buds,
Has the same ears as my listening lover;
The fireflies, flickering beneath bats,
With tree frogs trilling,
Are my lover’s eyes, observing.