portrait of my love in red and gold

the night i got mountain-high

and fell asleep in a swath of rose-colored blankets,

i dreamt about your back.

you were walking forward down the street,

and i was walking behind you, your hand

pulling mine forward—and i kept staring

at the blue-white expanse of your back, your shoulder blades

like the folded wings of a prairie falcon,

thinking of how you looked

cutting and twisting through the water on that last swimming day

of the whole year, the fall, just before the water turned cold.

your laughter like white birch branches blowing

in the wind. you are the apple core

of all my poems. those last few days of summer

when the heat of august bled

into something new. squeezing out

those last few drops of gold

with our teeth.