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Ordinary Sex and Loving a Woman

By on April 9, 2013
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A132 ord2

Loving a Woman
I was nineteen and on LSD
the only time God spoke to me.
Or, if not God, a voice so clear
and clearly not my own
it could have been the creek,
still so clean we could kneel
and drink. The day was warm,
a thrum of insects, budding of cells.
The fat leaves opened their pores.
The building up of sugars
and the breaking down,
the tree’s green breath
spilled into my lungs.
I sat in the stream, a stone
the water washed over,
wearing away each rough surface.
On the other shore she
lounged against a boulder,
branches above her,
framed in a darkling shrine.
The voice could have been
the air itself, saying:
Nothing you could do
together would ever
be wrong.
The words entered me like the sun
pouring into the mouths
of the leaves as they stirred,
as the light sifted down
on her slight shoulders,
her freckled cheekbones.

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