sunset past noon;

bring back the skies
of tumbleweeds and auburn
and sweet summer rain;
bring back the oceans
and rivers
small streams on the plain
carving past flowerbeds
and thunderheads
bring back the poetry of thistles.

in a moment of mental clarity
I want you to bring back the body
that curves with mine so well
in easy familiarity.
bring back the vines and tulips.
bring back the grass and wine
for I have mountain cathedrals
rock-set spires
snow-bound choirs
to wash it down with.

bring it back and then,
once again,
though the clouds are growing thin,
bring it back again.

in the mornings I haul my water
and get up again,
dirty fingers
tomatoes with salt.