LANGUAGE OF DESIRE

What language speaks 
with the winter wind 
and drags its feet to furrow 
the snow?

Will it capture my face 
and ferry it skyward 
until the sun breaks through 
like light through a prism 
reducing my love 
to its essential colors? 

Night thickens from grey to black.
Rain pools in the street.
Shadows pool in the alley. 

In a dream my hands find a body 
thick as a blossom swelling 
to open its petals in the night 
knowing what it needs remains 
unnamed but still there, 
as certain and transparent 
as a body can make it.

The wind might know. Or the larks.
Or the crows that steal our secrets 
and hide them in the desert caves of desire.