cusp of september,
summer burns on drunken driftwood pyres breathing
pale rhapsodies of you & i to a vagabond wander
of stars over stolen shores: there,
you spin me
wilder in smouldersilk tangles, falter-step through
strayed echoes of a mandolin waltz to a worldedge singed brazen, trembled
bright with a waking of storms. there,
we troth
wonder and a wanting and bones ripened lovelier
for boardwalk lights and grenadine heat
to that far place between
your sand and my sky.
[incandescent,] we break
with the thunder and home with the tide
to part without a promise on the cinder-wind, but














