Tiger beetles, crickets, velvet ants, all

know the useful friction of part on part,

how rub of wing to leg, plectrum to file,

marks territories, summons mates. How

a lip rasped over finely tined ridges can

play sweet as a needle on vinyl. But

sometimes a lone body is insufficient.

So the sapsucker drums chimney flashing

for our amped-up morning reveille. Or,

later, home again, the wind’s papery

come hither through the locust leaves. The roof

arcing its tin back to meet the rain.

The bed’s soft creak as I roll to my side.

What sounds will your body make against mine?

