I Took You Away for a Sunday Morning

and then I showed you the river
where I had thrown my old shoes away
to make peace with the way the wind
blew my cheeks rose-red, hot steam from
a shower to clear your head, an
old riding horse slowly accumulating
dust in the corner
and you stared

and your stares were never something
I shied away from because your eyes
were like hurricanes and I always enjoyed
stepping on the porch for a deep breath
in the middle of a storm

you found your bicycle in between the oak
and the redwood
told me I was a fool to ride it out here
to let it rust away
but rust after all is none more than
notebook pages ripped despite the
perforation and coffee spilling on
the surface of an old open-top desk

breakfast came earlier than the sunkisses did
and lucifer (the moon of course)
woke me up more gentle than you ever could

and no faster than oyster shells could birth
beautiful pearls
I walked away into the river
to find my shoes