I rise up into storm sky, writing my poems like fragments of longing that I…
ALL THIS LIGHT
In this desert, all this light
Briefest moment, your hand
on my hipbone,
your lungs unfurling themselves.
I could taste your breath.
Electric, your eyes, with what wasn’t said.
So very many things I have left unsaid,
let the curve of a cheekbone,
the hollow below the neck,
the upper ridgeline of rib
speak their own stories instead.
© 2016 Dora E. McQuaid
All peace to each one of you. Dora