Thirteen waves: x.



You’re asleep
and waves of air
slide in and out your lungs;
five inspirations
for every snore of the ocean.
Once in a while wind
bumps the overhanging tree,
and we both turn over like a wave,
and your belly warms my back
with perfect timing.

Poem and reading by Rachel McAlpine CC BY 2.0, photo by Dave Young CC BY 2.0 via Flickr

The new bed

The new bed is like no bed.
You might be rolling
on that denim cloud
beyond the evening city.

You might be floating
in a forest of kelp
that swings and lolls
and lulls you enigmatic.

You might be anywhere
but in bed, and you wake
to morning light
when flickers of eternity have fled.

– – – – – –

Rachel McAlpine