"It Was When."
It was when we harked up the path in the dark
to the bamboo house.
Green strokes down my back, arms over your doubled hips.
Under cow breath thatch bent cool breasts brush my chest.
And Naga walked in with a candle, "I'm sleepy."
Or the jungle ridge by a snag--
banyan canyon, a Temminck's robin,
whirls down the waterfall gorge in Zazen.
A poncho spread out on the stones.
Below us the overturning silvery brush bamboo
slopes rain squalls came up on us naked.
Brown nipples in needles of ocean cloud rain.
Or the night in the farmhouse with Franco on one side or Pon.
Miko's head against me I swung you around
and came into you careless and joyous
late when Antares had set.
Or out on the boulders south beach
at noon rocked by surf burned under by stone,
burned over by sun salt water caked,
skin, swing, hips on my eyes burn between that we caught.
Sprout took grip in your womb and it held.
New power in your breath called its place.
Blood of the moon stopped.
You picked your steps well.
Waves and the prevalent easterly breeze
whispering into you through us, the grace.