My Mother Ruminates from the Other Side on Their Portrait

We were thinking about the soul, that body
of light that's light as air
and desireless, free from the blue skin
of the world that carried it.

We were thinking about sex, that moanful
prayer for warmth, clasping each other's hands, longing
to kiss the boundary of skin, longing
to touch the sweetest places.

We were thinking about that time we fucked so plain
and simple on the floor of our dirty
kitchen, littered with scraps of paper, crowded
with unwashed dishes, and untouched by the sun

that was shining through a dusty attic window
somewhere. Afterwards, he said he was cold and he pulled
his pants back on and walked around, shirttail untucked,
clasping all the window locks. There is still some light

in October, he was saying, and something so blue
about the air, something so blue. Tell him
it's because it's true: the angels
are beautiful, luminous and full of longing.