Sunday

When she returns
with coffee on a tray she finds us
already growling into each other
a pyramid, our foreheads touching
and she sets the tray
next to statues carved to capture us
a thousand years ago

when he returns
with glasses and a bottle he finds us
coiled like asclepios serpents
breathing each other’s bodies till we shiver
her tiny moan a jewel dropped into dark water

He and I
need only her face reflected
in a black bowl with rainwater
or strobed in smoke, her dancing a silent
holy island in the crowd

She and I
need only the mouth and root of his body
lengthen our tongues to him and meet;
our two bodies of Isis
breathing life into the pillar
our hands and mouths wrapped
over him like vines

We approach
on parchment feet the mystery
of these quiet morning hurricanes
the holy details of the skin

when I return
with hands full of hunger I find them
measured along one another,
their faces turned to me and I
need only this bright center
the taste of easy morning
this partnership of reverence
our hearts’ common cause