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.”

eyes

mine
stare holes 
through entire evenings;
it’s a shame 
i couldn’t do the same 
to whatever passed and future heartbreaks
were guarding your consistency

yours
stared whole 
into my sense of being; 
it’s a shame 
they all the same
cut me to puzzle pieces 
and left without a single picture of us 

if park benches had rewind

i'd replay cigarettes and white wine; 

when lightning 

reflected like tree roots

through yours and mine;

and we planted forests of the way i talked of brother

and gardens of your india by the sea in summer; 

if eyes are windows,
i'm still unplanting splinters 
from the years i stood too close 

selene selene (selene near the sea)

the only thing that will dry a rainy afternoon in venice,

is to pause for a cigarette 

and the girl reading something opposite the cafe.

i was nervous to ask your name

because i knew it'd be a hard one to let go. 

i asked, 

why aren't you wearing your crown today; 

you answered: what? so i said, 

never mind. 

who are you?  you asked.

i told you the wind,

and you thought about it for a second. 

do i know any french? 

only how to smile,

but you'll have to wait until you know me well enough to hear it. 

we were, 

seated next to a window 

bordering the exposition of pastries and treats;

all the passerby's pressed their noses and grins against the glass, 
pressed their noses and nationalities into us;

snapping photos of the chocolate row boats and candy bananas;

i said, 

if you need proof that we're celebrities, 

check out the lady with the british flag umbrella. 

selene selene
are you naturally guarded, 

or are you purposefully attempting to make me want you desperately?

either way, i'm not bothered;

only be conscious that i will begin to love you. 

i've always known beautiful gets more colorful with time,

i just never knew a face could wear so many shades. 

you asked what i was writing down; 

and i told you, a good thought i do not want to forget. 

you inquired if you could see; 

so i said: always, 

there are mirrors everywhere.

maybe you are perfect, 

maybe i just imagine so in the story i'm telling. 

whichever is true; i'm fine with the reality. 

you were never flesh and bone 
until you let me walk you home. 

i was cold the entire way; 

but you looked back as we parted, and that felt really good inside. 

-----

(people question if i have a love life, 

and i tell them, only with the ghosts. 

no a real one? they say.

well then yes surely, 

we all feel the rain, don't we)? 

-----

i suppose love is like Venice:

i'm never quite sure if i'm lost or found, 

but it's always near the sea. 

Elsa

the little girl dancing 
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. 

were i a hummingbird

were i a hummingbird 

i’d hover,

over earth until guilty verdicts 

reverberated from the laws of gravity; 

(i were sentenced to freedom 
from the day i learned to fly).

were i a hummingbird 

i’d make home 
of your garden, 

(the green and golds of living room, 
steeped in afternoon and iridescence, 

percolating through the trellis 
to the terrace where you bathed),

were i a hummingbird 

i’d live 
swiftly, 

so swiftly you did hear my colors 

writing songs through your lantana. 

were i a hummingbird 
i'd flicker,
into summer and through asia,
like the interweaving lines of your left palm 
re(a)d,
and out from every single one of your fingertips. 

were i a hummingbird 

i’d return, 

today, and every today after.

were i a hummingbird 

i'd hope, 

she were hearing,

i'd hope she were seeing

she were smiling ,

i'd hope that she were nearing

i'd hope she were

were i a hummingbird,

(and she would be).