Solstice Voyeur

Solstice: voyeur


by Bob Hicok


I watched the young couple walk into the tall
grass and close the door of summer behind them,
their heads floating on the golden tips,
on waves that flock and break like starlings
changing their minds in the middle of changing
their minds, I saw their hips lay down inside
those birds, inside the day of shy midnight,
they kissed like waterfalls, like stones
that have traveled a million years to touch,
and emerged hybrid, some of her lips in his words,
all of his fists opened by trust like morning glories,
and I smelled green pouring out of trees into grass,
grass into below, I stood on the moment the earth
changes its mind about the sun,
when hiding begins, and raised my hand from the hill
into the shadows behind the lovers, and contemplated
their going with my skin, and listened to the grass
in wind call us home like our mothers before dark.


Published in Ploughshares