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Amid the Wisteria
Through garden lattice, I glimpse
lovers brokering a trade amid the vines.
He unbuttons a shirt. The other unzips.
He unclasps a belt. The other kicks off shoes.
The two men touch and kiss to their knees. Hard to know through clutch of greenery
whether gratitude defines how they proceed. He is not altogether smiling and his man seems
eager to make sure lust does not stall.
It’s May after a winter of fallen power lines,
terrible accidents, a late snow that killed the apple blossoms. Until this moment,
I thought dust to dust the last purchase on the flesh, but here they are, the way
they will always be, reaching after certainty while purple flowers sizzle with bees
and there’s no telling what happens after the quickening has left them laughing
or confused by all they want in their arms.
J. P. white