Or we would lie besieged,
sand and glare
resolving to a dull roar,

ears to the stones,
cold creek water
and the lobes of the trees lit,

golden crenellations.
In the firm, daylight ground
three lies were told.

Each of us
waiting for what we whispered to come forward.
Neither reverent

nor disbelieving
the light-pulse
filled every distance with a body

as if having once forgotten.
As years of alibis
washed into the open water.

Sometimes I climb myself. I hear her
holding her breath
so that her breathing does not obscure
the sound of the rain,
does not push our bedroom like a paper boat
through the window out into the cedar boughs.

And I am
waving black flags of sand,
blotting out the nights
I truly was gone, had hopped the high wall
of my body
to travel that labyrinth back to you.