Junie Reads Ali

 

The outline of the mountains against the edge of night
signs patience, love in Arabic, against the edge of night.

Barker loves an open door, sun on the Mexican tile.
Junie swaps secrets with children in a wedge of light.

She prays for both of them, and friends on the cusp.
He demands the privilege to write.

Junie asks what itís like to love a rich woman.
Barker says: imagine a silk bandage, airtight.

She sighs and swats her apron at the kitchen fire,
heís out to raise the butcherbird, and fledge a kite.

Junie was planned as the second of six children.
Barkerís sure his birth was a matter of Arpege one night.

He saw signs in his own code, stopped drinking for a while.
She eventually left her ex at his pledge of Sight.

Junie reads him Aramaic in the afternoon.
He loves the throatiness, but wonít acknowledge insight.

You can choose rocks and start sparks.
In the agony of vacuum, some allege for spite.

Junie thinks: truck farm and pick-your-own Loganberries.
Barkerís got a scheme to package moonlight.

She details his bad habits on the road to Baraboo.
He thinks twice, then deems the damage finite.

Barker whispers patience, love in the afternoon light.
Itís early, and he knows whatís on the edge of night.