In This Lace Orchard

With you I learned to live in bed
& mirror, resting this gift
this salt & water: body
against your own
more drunk than fragile

& knew all roads were glass
& our grave nights reversal
since all comes back at last
silk of the turned apple leaf
hollow of finches

so I hold out my hands: noon
& I stand in my shadow
in this country of blown leaves, desire
in this lace orchard
where you are the light

(this was a kayak poem--that is, printed in that odd and lovely magazine edited by George Hitchcock back in the day)