The first month you loved me

In that first month you loved me
You were the floor and ceiling
and stairs and tall doors (always
opening), love.

Shrouding us two in your dim,
augerbine coat,
you said you would grow to a
wide-grinning

man who teeters on sidewalks,
and dotes on his ancient wife.

Dreaming of fireflies,
brilliant storm oceans,
the scent of sweet grasses, the
luminant skies

that were ours, I loved you --
A thirty-day sandstorm,
closer than breath. I learned,
then, about thirst.