Our complex geography of stone arches
crossing caverns of quiet (broken sharply
by the morning crunch of cereal, clang
of spoon on bowl), my heart twangs, it
sometimes tears in the We of many weathers.
An old house holds us in slanting light,
two more in the heritage line of straight-faced
lovers side-by-side at the plow, side-by-side standing
on the borderlines of togetherness splashing
our faces with well-water, watching a sundown
Wondering into spaces without words, we reach
across the aisle to hold hands when we’d
as soon walk in opposite directions -who knows
what they’ll say about us later. He wanted
the city. She wanted the farm. They sang in tune.
Early Morning Poems 