I. Reading a Book

With origamic precision I
dog-eared the corner of a day

in which reading you was
like sifting through shifting clouds

looking for a recognizable shape
(e.g., loping deer, jumping horse, shady oak).

Along the way I picked a medley of
flowers in a kaleidoscopic garden;

discovered a new planet, a new particle,
a forgotten place; met a clairaudient

who was listening in on happiness;
augured the future and came away hopeful.

II. Being Elsewhere

Overhead a mobile of gulls flecked
your rhythmic backside with shadow.

Appropriately Matisse added
your tan lines but then forgot where

he was and confused our locale with the
South of France. I built a sandy nest

beside you, curled up, dozed off too.
We slept and dreamt together.

First stop Antibes: cafe au lait and pastries;
the plein air market; the Musee Picasso.

Second stop Nice: a brisk brief photo op;
the whitecaps of Alps in the hazy blue yonder.

Third stop Monaco: crepes and another
au lait; flapping pennants; tired feet.

Fourth stop Menton: Cocteau's Salle des mariages;
the mynah bird in the junk shop; sachets of

lavender; the stairs to St-Michel; waiting for
the restaurants to open. By the time we came to

we'd already crossed the border into Italy,
changed money, and were heading to Torino.

r.l. swihart
R.L. SWIHART says, "Though I am many, I'll be contented to spotlight only my quadruplicate-self which, like a nested Matryoshka doll, consists of me and the-family-within: RLS (I'm shy, so until we're more intimate the initials will do), Ania (the devoted wife), Katia (started 1st grade in September), and Nadja (quite the fledgling at 2.5 yrs).   I read heavily.  Imbibe moderately.  Work when I have to (math teacher).  Am hounded by all nine muses at once."