Waking to Watch You Sleep

Can I believe in seeing what I believe
is in your eyes?
It's been a thorny season--
bougainvillea turn black,
genips fall from trees
like stones off a cliff.
What we planted, nourished,
has turned to dust.

Still, we cuddle,
inhale the same future.
Inside, we breathe easy.
Heat knocks on our windows
but does not come in.


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