August 24, 2000
Clouds like dragons,
clouds like birds.
The two of us dangle our feet
off the edge of evening and
drink sunset colored cocktails.
I am ready to slip over this ledge,
feel my body slice the space,
silent as a fish.
I know you would not understand
if I told you
shipwreck visions float
up with the freckles on your forehead.
And would you be anything less than offended if I said
in your arms, I am held by a ghost?
The sky is bruised with violet continents,
and the first stars, so far off, make me feel
I am sinking,
but it is the sinking into a vast sleep
where I will rise and float.