This marriage

                is like Yosemite Valley.

                The volume of space     

                invites men

                to fling steel cables

                from one side

                to the other

                                criss cross

                                the wide, open-faced grin,

                heel  of the head

                pressed back

                against the other side of the world.

 

You and I

                take turns

                imagining our slippered feet

                cloaked in chalk

                                our palms

                                wedded              

                                to bars of aluminium

                                humming

                                in the changeable air.

 

In each of us

                dreams

                of muscled grip

                slip

                into flight

                                at the first suggestion

                                of imbalance.