BUT THESE KISSES... (POEM)

But these kisses. . .

These kisses don’t sprint:

they slow jog the steep switchbacks

carved in cliff walls

by hooves of mountain goats

in the canyon

east of town.

These kisses swim pollywoggy

in dark underwater grottoes,

rub their backs on

cool blue stone.

These marmot kisses furryscurry home

to our sun-heated crack

in this granite rock.

These kisses sweat in the dark

like a nightshift coal miner

who wants to see his children

before they leave for school.

The other night one kiss fell asleep

and woke up under a taco stand

in East Los Angeles.

I’ve kissed before, been kissed before

but these kisses gambol out along the savannah

where we find lions

and lions

find us.

                                                      ©         Dean Metcalf

                                                                        1/15-2/6/2004