Postcard from the Sound

I wake with a young man's breath beside me
tucking and stealing covers he curls into himself
The loft window shines sunlight downstairs 
in early morning it reflects the Eye of Soaron 
makes me want to genuflect or raise my arms
bow my head but instead I just make coffee


The young man sleeping before
I run my fingertips over his thick eyelashes
when he's asleep it is clear
he was born a decade after 
when we are awake it is clear I was born a decade before
smokers lines tap me on the lips
summertime waves hello around my eyes
the sky above the Long Island Sound 
bright and icy like an anchorwoman 
the Zodiac killer across the street 
carries Christmas presents to and from his car
these matchbox houses by the shore
these last chance porches waiting for the storm