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There’s no place to spend our money where we live.
The generous world suggests we live generously
so we lay
under low wide branches
of the oldest tree on the dune,
or in the hay,
where we will stay for so long without moving
that the careful birds finally relax
and make black nests in your black hair
and find ants walking around my unmoving feet
and we will only notice this play of the world
(that long moss is growing on us)
(that that wind has rewritten us)
(the give and take not stopping ever)
for only a moment
and then, having briefly noticed,
let the world roll on, doing this,
through open gates.