This is one of my--
I like this poem a lot.
"Minoration," for Karen.
The clothes that cover you are still
involved in their charade.
I know you so well now, the bell curve
of your hips, how your voice blends with the night.
Your face encased in a thin wax of sleep
in the great garden of morning.
Being with you, I hesitate, recognizing a third power,
a delicate strength.
It must be respected.
We are its source.
Then I am lost in you, the strangeness
of knowing where I am.
Recounting the series of random coincidence
that lead to the precision of this moment.
We flow in harmonious silence, living
on the nerve of each movement, ending where it begins.