As you sleep, I am watching you drawn into the unsteady

Blur of a Shaker rocker, ear pressed against a teal welt
Gessoed onto your naked shoulder. In your drifting-off

Horse rider’s hands, so without borders they could be
A cartographer’s, the bow of a homemade violin aches

To map out scale. If they were awake, your fingers would 
Unstring the staves of night, your left eye a bruised pianissimo

My right forearm a warm crescendo. Your lips, parting, tip 
Up in profile, fear dividing my face in two: first a fighter

Next a bull charging a ranch gate the wind grates open. 
Your hinges unhinge me while, outside, a magpie whistles

Into cottonwoods cobalt with breeze and, inside, mirrored 
In me, you exist in dream, your face turning full. Mars

A readymade riding into the corral of my ribs. There 
Is no other weather, no greater lightning strike to

Cleanse us as singly, our unsaddled horses fording 
Vast floodlit night-spaces etched, we have come to feel

By the sharp stream of quietude we each have had to 
Wade through to drink from. Once the eclipse starts gnawing

The moon outside inward, I sit across from you, thirsty 
Inspired, and cold, slipping on your faded, dawn-bloodied shirt.