the nights are getting warmer
and that kiss of 2am dew
will feel less sloppy less frenetic
less like that fumbling teenage lip lock
in the church basement

the river is calm for now
yet the ducks still explore the wharf
dry as it is, expecting to swim
there are no girls with auburn hair
here to sing me into the water

and into the imagining
that I am not a duck
searching midnight basements
for the first hint of dew