Two Hawks in a Short Span

for Carol

it's summer
and the topless Jenny
floats up highway one
from Santa Cruz to San Francisco
out the openness of above
we spot two hawks in a short span
silent atop poles
their focus as furious as the conversations
coursing below them
and a third
unseen by me
in the grass
later that night
the bed laps the shore of the wall
your body undulates
becomes the highway below us
your pliable skin
the grasses goldening the breeze
scenting the air
your nipples alert
like those two hawks waiting
for my titmouse
to scurry across the downy
field of your tummy
to the wet warmth
of your hooded cave
and the third
no longer to be seen
lingers in your felt
it's summerhot, sticky
we glide atop each other
dreading and hoping
for candles to burn out
for sleep to calm,
for morning to hold
for the world to claim us once again.



© 2002 Homer Christensen