Press Close

Press close the hands of waking safety, 
slender hands of rising muse
against your skin, the shifting hands
the chilly winter hands you thought be gone, 
still here, still enveloping 
look off to the night of beckoning renew, 
the night, brother of the morning
settles all that disputes sun, the night
the starry navy night that guides your dreams, 
still clear, still developing 
Soften to the wonder of the prologue, 
maddening wonder of the unmet one
who seeds the birth of fervent wonder
youthful gitty wonder that expells impatience, 
still cheers, still assembling 
That you bring me up to testify to your worth, 
to ease your restless mind
to stand beside you in your war with vice and honor
to press close my hands, 
to your hands, 
that they become our hands
to soften to wonder of what could be, 
till a wonder of what is
becomes a wonder of how cold it not? 
and we look off into one night, 
til the next night, that they become all nights 
for I would love you unshaven, unclean, and imperfect
tinged with smoke and barley, 
call me out in the Key of D
to experience something never done before
with hands, in wonder, at night, 
that in days to come
still near, still blossoming