Cigarettes became stale after 30.
My bones were trees
where smoke drifted among them
and I was a father with thickened arms,
lifting my child without my muscles shaking,
lifting like gravity does the tides.
Raising my child
like that “Thing” that moves
the objects of Space into place without tension.
Just like that “Thing” granted
the Universe space for creation.
As a young man,
I looked into mirrors at my starved physique.
But now I stand like oak
with squirrels pawing up me,
I do not shake.
With deer maidens grazing about me
on the newborn blades of Spring,
I shed my sap.
Is this to weep?
At night, I lay with the wind with you.
. . . Is this to weep?
Across the adobe walls of your thighs,
across the adobe walls of our home
the song of the wind is playing
and as you rise
from the sunlight breast-dew of ocean skins
(O sand dunes affirmed among wind!)
the statues shine in the City of Heaven.
I go on to tell someone later that day,
in a colorful and fruity way,
“I kissed my wife when she awoke this morning.
I'll do it again tomorrow.
Do you know what it means to enter that City
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