The Hot Place


The light passes over
The edge of your face
In warmth.

I wonder if you will hear
Me talking to you

In fragile communication
Like pearls of dew
On the plate of glass
That is next to my bed.

Connected like spiderwebs
In the morning
Before the sky starts to blush
Pinks and Powder Blue;
Deepest indigo

Like a secret code.


-lisa king, 2003