At the end of afternoon, draped
                          in cricket song,
when the last column
of sun, square as a plank, pours
gold through tall crepe myrtle
trees, their petals cool in a
flat shade of green -
     when the sails are put away,
               when the waters sleep,
we kiss; and I fall into
your arms.
When the waters sleep, we kiss;
and I tumble
to a seascape, an endless
seascape of your ocean eyes.

26 jul 01
M Madison