Downriver

Slick oil, diamond white sun
Glints in a halo
Encircling the warm domes of your knees,
Your shoulders,
The black skullcap of your hair;
We ride invisible currents
And doldrums, high above
The continents of the riverbed.
You haunt me, on my right hand,
Warm and smooth as sleep,
Coasting on a silver river, an aching dream,
As the trees stretch
And pass overhead
And the grass on the banks
Rustles, brushed by our feet.

(July 1989)

(Photo: A Florida dragonfly, to accompany a poem written while I lived in Florida, retrieved Wednesday from my file box.)