Your kisses are my favorite liminal empire

After the cat knots
came out of her fur,
we shook down the tent
and said quick goodbyes
to the goats, the peafowl,
the hens and chicks, the rooster,
the horses, the donkey, the “night badger”,
and Miss Glorious Fancy Pants,
who often uncurled like
the smoke beside the campfire after dark
and had sprawled herself on the ragtop
of your grey beetle the evening before.

Your embrace is my safest empirical space

We took the air out of the tent.
Room by room, then top or bottom,
then all in half. Together.

You and I unite our rulership: I bask

Folding a tent together
and making it fit
in its original bag
effectively, without distress and complaint
makes me hopeful for what else
we might unpack and
put in the spaces that work
smoothest for us together.