Our Garden Dream




I sleep on
a great pile of
clean clothes

with green-bean socks
--lean and pinched--
bell-pepper pants,
their legs turned
inside
out
cottony clumps of squash
--summer's ripeness breathing
in the winter basement
until my towel makes soup--
heads of leafy sheets
lettucy pillow cases,
their skin gentle
folds of pleasure
entwined do I sleep tonight
in my vegetable patch
of clean clothes.

I dream of a garden and you
and a basket brimmed in color;
you stand at a double sink
a little house all yours around you
I am drawn to you
I want to watch your hands work
and kiss your neck; I press against you
your shirt wet from work and sun
and a single drop silvers
down the hills of your spine
somewhere,
the last thing I see
as we fall into our garden dream.

Kenneth Speirs