in red rain boots is beautiful.
her blonde hair
bounces with her feral foot steps
and she giggles like she knows god.
she offers me a french fry,
and when i chomp down
like some savage,
she completely loses control.
she cannot have more than two years,
and yet she and I
have been running in a field called playful
for centuries, and all morning.
her nanny speaks spanish.
we have the same level.
cual es tu color favorito?
and she tells me.
(if the world spoke as children;
the only thing we'd be lacking in the lives we lived
would be theories on how to do so).
she is unpredictable.
her mind is mapless.
she slides,
hands first,
up and down the cafe stairs like fingers on a piano.
the entire room is resounding in the melody of her exultation.
i am singing along.
she is back for more.
she launches
onto the booth seat next to her mother.
her father, reaches a hand to catch a potential tumble backwards,
but only instinctually.
they continue speaking.
she is on parade.
she tramples my books and things.
her destruction is unwavering, (as are pardons to the joyfully accidental).
i speak quietly to the apologetic mother.
there are countless pens, journals and rucksacks in Germany.
there is only one radiant - red rain boot dancing Elsa.
thank you.
............
a solitary coffee is, at times, like a companionship eviction notice.
when i finished this one, this morning,
i saw god in the dregs.
he doesn't always look like the paintings, but he does look like we need him to.
some day,
Elsa will organize her dancing.
always,
Munich will smile
from march winter and thursday morning;
at least at me anyway.
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