MELONS

I come home tired, back hurting, the
melons of my butt stiff with pain,
and she rubs them naked in bed.
We do the thing that lovers do
when the world fades
and small leaves come
to focus.  One moment I look at her,
miracle of breath,
universe from a seed, the day
turning over till darkness
in the absence of time.
I don’t see any further than
childhood, when magic fluttered
like candy wrappers in the breeze,
and I knew some kid had come back
again and again
to steal the candy.
Or, a lifetime later, an old man dancing,
master of his loneliness,
who gets to pretend
there’s someone there with him
though it’s only the mirror of joy.
But this one, this reflection, this miracle
rubs my melons in twilight
till my back ain’t got
no bone.

9/22/01
rev 6/21/22