May 08, 2005 | 7:38 p.m.
feverweed.

most mornings, he doesn’t speak,
just heats us a cup of peppermint tea
before i leave.
and when he speaks,
the words grow from him like feverweeds,
the best leaves all season.
i save them in my pockets,
take them home with me,
sew the roots inside my pillows
rub the syrups on my skin,
put the stems beneath my tongue,
and sleep.