servants

clothed in a thousand isles
as the slow movement
of shadows
in the clueless words
of a murmuring wisdom
forget

the cool waters embrace
her eyes, as servants
of a pale moon
telescoping glass
on the limitless horizon
of her darling lips

I walked on a flowing
forgetful hiway
slow-stepping in the mild breeze
swallowing teepees' innocence

but torrents awake
as I dream
of warm bread
in a sleepy meadow
before dawn

when the slick morning
beats our eyes
with aching surprise
I look up
and forget

though I disclose
in serpentine mist
and swallow up
a wild moon
without shadow, or light

in slow steps
a million tommorows
become smoke and sermon
in this tent

servants