It is not enough to step through the night 
enclosed in our separate bodies; 
your arm floating across my back, 
your fingers lost in my hair. 
The darkness parts before us 
and slams shut as we pass 
with absolute finality. 
I cannot see the orbit of your eyes, 
the dark side of your face, 
the wisp of cloud behind your ear. 
You press me to your side, close as a wing 
and I seep through my skin 
to lodge between your flesh and the air, 
surrounding you like water 
around a drowning child. 
I grasp your hand, reminding myself 
I am real. As real as the night. As real as you. 
And we are both alone, and we are both alive 
stranded like sand under this moonless starless sky.
The Apartment House At Night
Under an icy moon 
two cats 
chase each other 
up and down the hall 
like small infinite horses 

while everyone sleeps 
behind shut doors 

except for one woman 
whose head is bowed 
whose breast is lifted 
by her own cupped hand
to meet her own small mouth.
Ode To My Hips
Move over boy 
these hips are coming through! 
These hips’ll knock you off the street 
if you don’t make room for them to move! 
These hips sway 
these hips sashay 
these ain’t no Brooke Shields teenage 
boy size 3 ½ slim hypocritical hips —
these hips are woman hips! 
These hips are wide 
these hips hypnotize 
these hips fill a skirt 
the way the wind fills a sail. 
These hips have chutzpah —
they think they can change the whole world! 
When I take these hips out for a walk on the street 
and the sun is shining 
and my bones are gleaming 
I place my hand on these two hips 
and know they speak the truth.