Kerri Shying R # 562 - crickets sing to the glory of white nighty

punch holes left by the gold tip of your

light-plied needle   pink French knots

buttons  the mother of pearl  no mention

of who is the father   the river is a slosh

with seed pearls   all dying for a berth

crickets sing to the glory of white nighty

which sits so light on me that I’m hugged

not as a foreplay but with the intent of cocoa

perhaps a tulsi before bedtime  breakfast

to look forward to   you have made me  this

garment  life  a daily covenant    for us both