Anniversary of Air

It is the mist of August
that descends like a sleepless woman
into the trees,
where the earth has no beginning
and looks like the sister
of the end of time,
where I open the door
to the memories that throw shadows
on the fire of what might have been enough.

In this dream
that is always beginning
you are the mirror of my lover,
flow blue
as button posies
in the moonlight
and speak to me
in the hushed language
of God.

In this dream
that is always beginning
we exchange bodies like madness
while the river disappears behind the bend
of our thoughts.
Here you embrace me
from the inside out
and eternity
is only a long hesitation
while we practice our sighs
like breathing
toward permanent change.

Meanwhile, the news from home is easy
and says “Look at the calendar.”
and notice what day it is
and you will understand
that today is the day
straw turned to gold
and that the anniversary of air
has changed each day
we have lived since then
because we have dared to embrace
the sin that is rightly ours.