WEBVTT

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"End of summer," new poem.

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"You are the beautiful
lip against my nipple,

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but the red cup of
raspberry is yours.

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Speaking, you hold up your
hand, an oracle perhaps,

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while I sleep on into the
night, another monsoon or not,

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displaced from water to
this curtain of heat.

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Long ago, the goats you tended
in New Mexico answered you,

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deep bleats and soft
eyes meeting yours,

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their white bearded heads and
your palm above my left breast,

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the heart unmoving as the
water moves out of the city

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into the earth."

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