Who can retrieve from fallen spray
or guess from altered sand or air
the wave just past, caught in the eye—
vanished but still unfurling there?
It would be strange that I am sad,
were I a stranger in your bed.
But since I am familiar here,
yet seem a stranger in your bed,
it is not strange that I am sad.
My Love Is Like a Camel
My love is like a camel:
she rations wet delights.
One hump she needs to travel
through six long desert nights.
The seventh brings oasis—
tall palm and grassy hill.
When we come to refresh us,
oh then she drinks her fill!
Wily Apparitions, Cummington Press,
Reprinted by permission of the author.