Amsterdam

When we arrived it was still winter.
Frost rested beneath my breastbone
as the long silver train slid in,

            as you held out your arms in greeting.
            We went into the city. We passed underground.
            The white earth began to glow ivory, then cream.

Each day a fresh mist, each evening
the window was whorled with steam
against the night clanging bitter outside.

            Fused and sprawling, hip into hip,
            your half-laugh a half-cry:
            the stars rolled back their colors in astonishment.

Salt traveled through your sweat, through your tears,
through the clear generous waters
on my tongue, on my hands, overflowing,

            awakening the snowbound sheets,
            awakening the cold furrows in the fields
            where we crossed a million canals

until the roads began to run backward, curling
through rain-drenched valleys unfolding,
the golden curve of your breasts,

            the shifting weight of your warm hand.
            The red-brown horses going out into pasture
            with arched necks and eager paces.

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