o you live

if we collected all the cracks 
stepped over on the sidewalks walked
to make it home after days felt misread, 
and lined them into stencils 
shaping silhouettes for letters;
we could borrow colors from our fantasies
to paint the words 
‘o you live’ onto the soles of our shoes. 

we got tired of wearing down the earth 
with all the thoughts of she we locked inside ourselves, 
so instead we’ll decorate these hopes 
onto a direction
and pray she likes our penmanship.   

after all, maybe she is 
following at a distance everybody,
reading our steps,
like a book she keeps in the red knapsack she carries everywhere.
there is a spellbinding story behind you
and she is skilled at unscrambling insecurity.

believe me, 
most days we wish to paint more clearly, 
but i was too raw to spell ‘i love you’ 
and i only own one pair of shoes. 

so all days 
we, o you live across town
without a dime against the seaside,
with the seagulls and the carousels, 
into the bar playing Earl King, 
into the chair backed to a corner 
facing the arches
beneath the painting of a lady with a compass for a face
next to the group studying medicine and the three girls who can’t concentrate; 
me neither;  
only on nonsense and fairytales
every few seconds glancing up at the entrance way
to hope she’ll walk through and to our table, 
saying, 
“how dare you think yourself some french poet 
i only want the boy not fooling anyone.”