Cracker Jacks

Summer bedroom nights
of shallow moon light
fingering its way through half-closed blinds.
What it was to be young,
waking out of bed among
crickets who have lost their song.
Down where the doug fir knot like coral
I came to meet you, ghostly
white clung to sinewy curves.
There we sung the songs of the sea
and watched as valleys rose before us.

You and I
we've been to them all
through spring, summer, and the fall
through the winter's chill and it's loll.