Lea's Poet

Eclipse (1967)

Gayle Gray

	Love feeds slowly
from the hand of a thousand
	western towns,

	and when we
pull off our clothes, it is in
	remembered beds.

	Words happen to me
then, when the restriction
	of my body

	is lifted away
from your brown hills
	and the day

	does not rise
until I tell it to.  It will
	never rise,

	quick-breathing
and clear, until I demand it.
	If you rise

	with me, laughing
and singing in the joy of my words,
	then you understand

	I do not care
that you have loved others,
	I only care

	that these sounds
come to your ears' oceans
	like new silver

	or like the wind
painting umbered fields
	with its guitar.

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