the nothing that happened

2010-05-08 | 9:57 p.m.

i lay my weary head to rest
on soft cut blocks of pine.
the one I love is faithfully
creeping up from behind.

in dreams I often see his face-
his countenance is hid.
the cold of time memorial,
the heat of blood and skin.

swiftness owning dignity-
that gravity oft lends-
relinquishes the vim of love
that�s only his to end.

My head on soft
cut blocks of pine
The axe�s axis
clouds his face.
Sleeping in shadows
of the arm
That brings the swing
from god to nape.