What the morning brought

The rooster at the edge of town
beat the alarm to the day
so as I lay there waiting to rise
I traveled shadows across eleven hundred miles
under shoulder pebbles and mountain needles
through black strings of streams, beneath sharp
knives of yucca and the twisted love of endless
Joshua trees, into tarred cracks of L.A. streets
that took me to your door. I thinned myself
against the frame, and slid, upright, wraithlike,
on tip toe through. I found you
in your shadow bed, kissed all the darknesses
buoying your sleep. Into the ear of your dream
I breathed: night makes us into morning,
and pressed my sunrise cheek against your head.

2007