Interwoven Poem by Mark Heathcote

We're composed of shadows meeting on the lawn
our bodies bump like boats in the boathouse
yearning to cut through waves, and leave at dawn.

I sail into the sunlight with my spouse
hand in hand while our free hands oared the air
pluck marigolds; she wears one in her hair.

These hot summer days are long and golden
while the morning dew freshens the meadow
where we lay till our shadows are interwoven.

A foundered boat creaking like a cello
all starlight & music, not a single
-shadow, hereafter, did intermingle.