At dawn I dream of hands

At dawn I dream of hands
reaching for me. The top
of the sky counts the feet
of a verse from the bottom

of the ocean. Her bottom
gasps at the touch of hands
and lips. She puts her foot
on the wall near the top

of the bed. Her lucid top
gathers under the bottoms
of her two enduring feet.
Under the yoke of her hand
I awake.