I hold the passing decades in our bodies
her hips rise above the dewed horizon
of our bed at 5:52 like a warm
sunrise over tasseled corn. I can’t think
of my rusted Harvester idle and cold
in the open shed; only of our years.
Morning doves sing in spidered eaves.
She turns stretching a naked profile
against antique curtains rippling
fragrant morning air. Honeysuckle
drifts back my boyhood nights,
blinking fireflies. Her body sways a beat,
then two, stirring slanted light, stirring time.
Tongues of fire, cardinals lick the dawn.
My wife slides back onto our bed
crawls across the years swaying her scent.
I breathe long strokes of her. “I want you
so deep inside me we’ll push the sun past
midnight.” Gliding through her depths, I let loose
the decades hold only the hours.
