I dream of June singing in a window,
and the radiant heat of her skin—
her strings, lyre, and clarion voice.
her heart’s heart uncooled by rain,
Milled brown wheat throughout my room,
tongues of earth bound with tender blood.

To burn fruited melodies in whale blood,
your sweet warmth sailing through the window
of my room, my seaside room.
Make the new wine, sealed in skin,
the unstrained mercy of summer rain,
desert plain and ocean melody—your voice.

Sing to me love, with guitar and voice.
Sing to me of your brood and blood.
No rainbows arrive without rain.
Come home again—be my window—
shed old songs and shed your skin—
grow love songs, faith light our room.

Come in and dance where there’s room
where we’ll speak gently with one voice
and smell the heat of sun on our skin,
join as friends, court in bond of blood,
then both break all manner of window—
paradise is our coffees mixed with rain.

The rain!  The rain!  The sleek mirrored rain!
Floods impossible pass between us in the room,
so we marry near the window
where you speak to me with your original voice
green as tall trees, rivers, and stones of blood.
Sweet woman, I am sore for the taste of your skin.

Play a rhythm, boom. Play throom upon the skin.
Surrender. The beat. The falling of the rain.
Take me with the kindness of your blood!
Fortunate, I—you arrived at my room—
no utterance unmistakable as your voice,
no bird, one bird, yes—!  I open your window.

Through a window comes a promised voice,
and I feel our room hot with blood.
Mercy wets skin with beads of rain.