Love, shaded in water

It is well to be here, in the low places, the cool places
where a stream winds its way at the bottom of the canyon
where it has worked through layers of earth and blue rock, this
little cutting stream, the places where water comes softly
from the earth, to join it.

We could meet here, in the cold pools of wet stone,
among the ferns that drip with water, the mosses engorged
among the liverworts and salamanders in this rainy, hidden place.
If we met here, in the shadows of forest, stone and moisture,
might there be recognition---

Might we understand the other's touch, we who
have walked together long enough to recognize a path
worn through the ferns and soil, the earth and rock of our hearts;
my lips and hands will be cool, o beloved: be exposed and unafraid
here in the shade below root and water.

Slice of life

I am pedaling a training bike in my kitchen, laptop set on a milk crate between the handlebars.
Two hours so far, and it's after ten;
A soft noise rises behind me, and I understand that
the hound curled on her couch is howling the softest howls
in tune with my cadence
a little hound song
of longed-for bedtime.