dave steger
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A Note at Sunrise There are a couple of places in this world where I could just curl up into the earth and be just fine. One is the path way out west in the Vineyard, the one that crooks and winds in and out of my mind. Oh, the longing. The moist aroma of the sea, the boats setting into a seemingly solid pool of nothing, the lavender crawling about the legs as you walk in the sand, and the birds hover free in the blue roof of high noon. When one gets to the breakers very few know what happens. Around the bend, it's as if you have reached the edge of the world, and you could fall right off. Since I was a boy I've always ducked under the rolling hillsides of the dunes, out-of-sight. The cave is warm and muggy. Of course, you know all this, but that cave has always been my sovereignty, my sovereignty since I was a young boy and Pa brought me out with my little hand in his wrinkles of time. I have begun to ramble, I apologize, for there is something moving quite faster than this chewed on pen. The other place is in this bed with you as you sleep and I feel the warmth of those hushed breaths of living. You are much like that cave, so vivid and mystifying on the outside and full of shadowing dusk within. It's funny I just thought of all this while you slept in the rain, hitting and chiming off the fire escape. There's still champagne left on the table. You tucked my mess into bed and kissed my eyes. Then I imagine you read with a pencil behind your ear, sitting with a blanket in the nook of the bay window, with your wisps relentlessly falling in and out of your eyes. I wonder if you drank tea, or if you drank at all. I can see you there right now, with the lulling sounds of the woodstove cracking, the wind hissing, and your mind in deep trenches of brilliant thought. It occurred to me, all of it just now. You're that cave, you take me in, you give me warmth. You breathe in the winds of the world. You are that cave, you are my sovereignty. Thank you |
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