Janelle Elyse Kihlstrom

Hospitality

If there is no brown-eyed girl in me

to love, I won't hold her spitefully

against our flying dreams and spider

monkey pantomimes that danced

across the painted floors clicking

their bones, the river of time that flows

unchanged, but what love is left

is elsewhere spoken for, the dreamer

no less human than the dream.  If  any

spills, the blue-eyed imp that spools

my lighter side through soundless

sleep, who cradles me beside

with empty arms, who spreads

her blanket on the desert floor

and quenches what the day drains

out of us will own it all.

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