She rises from bed, a pale-kneed woman
with capable thighs, and walks barefoot
into sunlight.
She bends like a willow over clothes:
layered pants and sweaters,
gloves and galoshes.
She’s looking for her things-
small garments to relieve buds,
smooth apparel to veil the soft spots.
Male voyeur, I linger in bed,
a thick comforter heavy with sun
on my chest.
I call to her,
but already she’s dressed and standing,
a season in short sleeves,
amazed at what seems to be
her first sunrise.
