Come to me like tomorrow to a child.
Like the day is cradle, blue world below,
to the misty, tussled dreams, half wild,
of cherished seraphs in cloudy furrows.
Like the dawn will wake us to memories
yet unknown, waiting in our baby brows.
Our lives of snow to fall upon the sea.
Our little losses just the cheer of crows.
Wake me, my sweet, to our pinky bodies,
like newborn pigs in sacks of spiky wheat.
Like she is, she is, she is she: a tease, / an angel, and a laughing whiskey neat.
Wake me, baby, from this too too solid dream. / Exit the woman, and enter, the steam.
forthcoming in How Journal