December 3, 2013


I hear the sprinklers
at four in the morning,
a lost sound, almost
out of place, except
I know the grass
is thirsty, baking
all yesterday afternoon,
under a winter sun
low in the sky, 
the earth beneath me
still warm
to the touch.

Long ago
I was warned 
to watch myself,
be careful
of what I asked for.
I imagine you here 
next to me,
breathing steady, 
as the water drumming 
on the windowpane
is softer now, 
fading away,
getting ready
to come around