House of Heart

There is a thicket lined path

near a marsh that leads to

a gently flowing spring.

At the velvety banks we lie

down beside one another.

My hands, like the flicker of dove wings,

glide the stillness of your face

that I love like summer wildflowers.

The sun hangs like overripe

fruit that drips amber wine down

the horizon,

the color of your eyes when you hold me.

William Oxer “Summer Fields”

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