Nocturnal

                                                            For Kim


I wish I had more time to know you
when we sleep.
The knowing summons me to a tryst
where no one is there.
Not you,  not me,
only the tentative cat pressure,
the deep southern groan of the dog,
the rain quietly wanting in.

As I lay there it feels like you
are the rain,  the dog,  cat.
Suddenly you release a little snore.
Like a sounding.
"Deep six" says the pole dipping deeply.
No grounding tonight,
safe passage below this tangled
supra-structure of legs akimbo,
arms hugging pudgy white flotsam.

My legs make a crossing and
we become a soft,  implicit raft,
turning,  eddying.
Direction is not in the geography
of where we are.
I let my arm slip off the side
into the cool darkness.
Water sings around my hand.
The tune is movement and
movement reaches for me
like a destination,
like home,  like knowing you.