Jolie Blonde

You stood up in the fishing boat,

a silhouette against the sunset,

shirtless and damp,

your blond curls wet and tangled.

I couldn’t see anything of your face,

just the flash of your smile

and the twinkle in your eye

as you held up the trot line and grinned,

talking some bullshit …

it was always some bullshit, wasn’t it …

it sounded so good in your patois.

I handed you the bait and tracked a trickle of sweat

down your belly into your well-worn jeans

while you pretended not to notice,

but looked down my shirt in trade.

Warm water lapped at aluminum.

Somewhere a fish jumped and plopped.

Cicadas tuned up

and you started singing

some Cajun thing I couldn’t understand …

didn’t really need to …

we both knew it was your version of foreplay,

softening me for the quick cold hose shower we’d give each other

before fleeing the mosquitoes

into the camp to strip

forgetting the fish bucket on the deck,

because dinner could wait

but we couldn’t.

RCGA, 2011

Bodhi Work

That part of me that recognizes
the gradient between ethereal and solid,
firm and pliant
wants you lying nascent in the afternoon sunlight,
quiescent yet tremblingly responsive,
a beautiful instrument
reclining on my table
being lovingly oiled,
tuned,
played.

What music will you make?

December Morning

The sky is slate

and covers beckon

where you lie warmly

waiting with hands to mold me

soft clay into a vessel to contain you

My shivers are not from the chill

Through the frost-paned windows

only a gray light crosses

our shadowed privacy

yet I can see your eyes glowing

like winter fire

RCGA, 2010