Coin of the Realm
by Judyth Hill
from Presence of Angels
 
 

How valuable to tremble,
in your presence,
a shudder of vowels,
praising the white shoulders of sleep.
Light swallows sleep and roosters.
I listen for your mysterious breath,
tunneling lonely toward morning,
dreaming of columbines,
guitarrons, and citronella.
In night's tender moss,
the smell of roses is an arrow on fire.
We take aim and find first light like cool milk.
Drink to a day of stringed instruments.
We take the open road. Count off twenty centuries.
I am afraid of nothing, but with my body of skin and music
awake.
 

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