Chevron and Swoop

In the blanks between the blinds, a hand appears.
It's six, and my dew-darling's at it again.
I close my eyes and cause her body's slipstream
To chevron and swoop through downward-facing dog.

Her morning routine is mine, though she may be still
In the blanks between the blinds. A hand appears
To chevron and swoop through downward-facing dog
(in my mind, at least). She moves behind the slats

Precisely, in lines and curves and shapes I know.
Her morning routine is mind. Though she may be still,
(in my mind, at least) she moves. Behind the slats
The sun she salutes redraws its early angles

On my bed, as if to plot some diagram
Precisely, in lines and curves and shapes. I know
The sun she salutes redraws its early angles
Though my eyes are closed—I draw such comfort

From this, and my girl's figures, circling to land
On my bed. As if to plot some diagram,
Though my eyes are closed, I draw. Such comfort
Comes from these repetitions, this design.

Copyright © 2002 Cecily Parks All rights reserved
from The Southwest Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission