a morning hour
at the end of our night
a small light over the door

everyone everywhere, it seems, sleeps.

we are new
i will unwind you

imagine us now as saints
you shouldn’t try to tame

and my entire body
shows no record

and not thinking
of anywhere else
is as close you get

holly, go lightly on me
i’ve been trying so long
to be true on paper
that i make a poor second
at these games

i am still in the night
where your lost voice
made the cold receiver
of my phone soften

i wish for more of those
small hours of the night
that, like strong dark hands,
wring the secrets from us
and bring faith to doubt

yet i would trade them
for the bright afternoons
where you, warmed by the sun,
warm me

what time is left to us
to decide these matters?
somewhere a cattle baron
makes the necessary arrangements
for his arrival