And here! Poems for sweat!
And this—some dadaistic manifest
of moans and grunts,
of invocations and appeals,
of fricatives and plosives that bend the Christian canon.
A sestina! A sestina for Cristina's coming!
Unsigned, unedited,
a first draft and a second,
a second and a third, who knows,
until we climb and climb and break the dizzy crest,
read every poem, keep the best,
dam the creek and pump the well, and—
and—O my love—a villanelle!
Sometimes When the Three of Us

Sometimes when the three of us
sing a silly song, or tell each other tales
of ordinary things...
            sometimes, hand in hand in hand
            around the kitchen table
            our years together dance from eye to eye
                  like candle's light.

Sometimes when the three of us
sit atop Pine Mountain while fog devours the world
eats the sun and pulls it down...
            sometimes, homeward bound
            blowing wind and cold
            we are the one warm thing in all the world.

Sometimes when the three of us
make love into the night, the hills and valleys of us
gentle, dark, and changing...
            sometimes without thought
            we rise above the land we have become
            the source of all its light.

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