Reading Vows

I read the RV bed,

the valley

in the mattress

formed by years

of Carla and Julie

rolling to center, sinking

in each other’s arms

anywhere between here

and Michigan.

Sleeping there with Dorell,

house guests,

the night before

their renewal of vows,

we fall into that nest,

make it warm

with our witness.

By morning, thick

with shared heat,

I climb the hill

of the bed’s high edge,

kick off the quilt

to the cool blue sheet,

fall into dreams again.

The tension of clinging

to the ridge, a giant

snoring woman fallen

to earth, my arm an anchor

thrown over a cliff,

is too much work.

I let go, roll down,

his heft a word

my body knows by heart,

our sunken shape

a new memory

in that soft valley

where every shared night

is a vow.