Poem: Expedition

The muscles of your shoulder

are hills and valleys.

My eyes trace

the ink forest outline, its

dells glowing softly

in the grey morning light.

The air is cold but

tiny firecrackers explode

beneath your skin,

melting the tundra between

your body and mine

into a deep blue sea.

It is not always easy

to reach me,

through the squalls and

past the breakers,

but your pursuit

means the world.

This article appears in August 2014.