I dream in the shape of the space between
Your two front teeth when you sleep.
That is to say, I hope
I’m stuck on the tip of your tongue,
Because wedged between
What I’ve told you and what you’ve told me
Is the ache in my bones when my hips
The snowflake air that
Shudders in whispers
As the shutters of my window
Fail to block
The bleak morning light whimpering on
About another day the Lord has made.