Saturday Poem

Morning Early

almost awake
bedclothes settled about like clouds
at the edge of summer. on the horizon
my hand floats on the warm sea of your body.
how did it get there? is it off on its own?
or has it some mysterious charter from the king,
some errand that will save all of France?
how free it rides and easy
on the suck and swell of your breathing.

by Nils Peterson
from The Comedy of Desire
Blue Sofa Press, 1993