Morning

I remember driving to your house
years ago for five hypnotic hours,
with a big dark coffee at hour one
that put me in the picture,
tuned in the music, embossed my mind
with the bright plaque of our love.
When I arrived, you pulled me close
to your coconut skin, your songbird heart,
and I lifted you up to your room.
Your room looked just as I'd expected it to,
friendly to silence, bowing to aches,
in sand, red, grey and a little calico.
It was our island in the night,
we were friends, lovers, and witches,
monks, grunion, and stars for a while.
In the morning, a soft gold dawn
rolled up from India to whisper to us,
tired, yes, but worth every mile.