cresting the hill

each vista gives to sinking

into a crease

a green valley 

beneath the cirrus 

and the blue of ages

each cut investigates

the depth of 

substance, leafs 

of ancient letters

under plain highways

through the midwest,

your vibrant eyes

and raised cheeks don't

betray that 

i know you best 

when i feel the bones

in your hands

like the vine sees the light
through coiling grasp

like the child makes up
other rooms of meaning

in the glass of water
shaped for thirsting

is the latent quench
when i tilt the glass