is the body, the vine – your lips
on mine, even if only
in the imagination. Blessed
is the tree, finally full of leaves,
the way the rain has stopped,
just for a day, the golden sky
as it rolls over the waves.
Blessed are your hands holding
the glass of wine, smooth stem
beneath your fingers like skin
on skin. Blessed is the flesh
& bone, the texts & phones,
the next sentence you send –
the surprise & the art –
my heart. The words that have
no form but later
make a poem. Blessed is the desire,
the sin – together & apart,
the ways we end & begin –
the fire that may start
when the storms move in
–
Marci Rae Johnson is a freelance writer and editor, as well as the poetry editor for WordFarm press and The Cresset. Her poems appear in The Collagist, Quiddity, Image, Louisville Review, and 32 Poems, among others. Her most recent collection of poetry, Basic Disaster Supplies Kit, was published by Steel Toe Books.