Woodnote

After love we lie with our limbs entwined,
our legs tangled like the roots of trees
beneath the sheltering earth,
my face buried in the nest of your hair.
Your butt is in my belly, my hand rests on your breast.
The aroma of your skin reminds me of the time
we sautéed mushrooms for breakfast.
We say the secret names that form the private language
of a long marriage, a country undiscovered.
For a moment, we have never hurt each other.
You nestle into me and soon you breathe
like a tired zephyr, rustling the hairs on my arm.
I feel you glide toward the invisible sky
and later I follow.
Our home is in our sleep.