Last night the raccoons foraged
in our backyard: there were grapes,
bread, cheese, wine and figs
we'd left out ‘til morning.
All the while we slept
and I, dreaming of dreaming,
tasted honey and found you
close, pawing softly, hands
and feet rhythmically climbing.
In the morning there were tracks
on my arms and legs and you,
looking out, cursed the varmints
gently and, like a detective, traced
your fingers through your hair
and could not help but smile.