a warmth even god smiles to feel

this all started as a poem 
about saying goodbye to a woman i love. 
this all ended as a supposition of sorts 
on a few things i believe about god. 
and it shouldn't come as a surprise, 
after all 
wherever love is unfolding
god is watching nearby, 
and i've come to imagine him 
dressed like my grandpa 
seated in the corner booth, 
stirring honey into his coffee 
and writing poetry onto the diner napkins; 
all with the biggest smile on his face 
a smile only god smiles -  
(and my grandpa of course).

if i've learned anything over the passed year 
it's how to see god everywhere; 
in south florida sub development blacktop when you tell her you love her for the first time 
to the escalators of a north los angeles red line station when you realize how much you still do 

this passed sunday was no different
alysse had been visiting el salvador for a few days 
and it were those few minutes before you know you have to make the drive to the airport. 
i said we should book it out a few minutes early, 
i was thinking of a spot off the highway, where we could watch the sunset and practice our see you laters on the city, before saying so to one another 
(the calm before the storm she called it).  
we pulled the car over, and made our way to the overlook railing, 
letting our eyes widen with the stretches of the city, 
decorated in the blue lights of first summer. 
i spread my arms as far as i could reach them, 
soaking in all that beautiful sundown, 
i then wrapped them around her as tightly as i could, 
to lock in a warmth you only find south of the U.S. border.
to lock in a warmth even god smiles to feel, 
as he watches from his booth atop the san salvador volcano.  

i think a lot of folks are afraid to let themselves consider god as something other than grand, 
as if we could in any way sell him short. 
i think god's biggest fear is that we'd never open our eyes wide enough to let him show us what getting small really looks like. 
i believe god is the sustainer of the universe, 
and i believe god is the gentle breeze and last rays of sunshine, 
sweeping through the city skyline. 
the beauty of god is that he is grand enough to be in awe of, 
and subtle enough to leave his art with an invisible signature.   
god is gentle enough to let us feel him, 
and we, she and i  
made our way back to the truck, 
and down the road to the airport 
with smiles on our faces 
and heavy hearts;
the smile in the knowing we'd felt god nearby,
the heaviness in the knowing we'd have to find him without the other next to us, 
at least for a short while anyway. 

so, 
beneath the fingernail moon 
i dripped the contents of my eyeballs 
onto the cracks between our interlocked fingers 
making you swear 
never to forget how absolutely wonderful you are 
and, 
beneath the blinking destinations 
on the airport departure screen 
you pressed the warmth of your exhale 
into the neckline of my sweater 
and told me i 
was one of the greatest things to ever come into your life, 
i - 
i - 
i - 
have never made god smile 
like i did with those goodbye tears 
after all, 
wherever love is unfolding
god is watching nearby.

forward

if you're like me
every couple of saturdays you
anchor yourself into the back patio rocking chair,
make waves
in your fifth cup of coffee,
and toss -
crest and trough
through all morning and afternoon -
this ocean you're sailing
this life you're living,
and
if you're living well
every couple of saturdays
you take a few steps back
and realize
just how much forgiveness you actually need.

forward
is a direction paved with the letting goes of all the things that want to drag you backward.
i have a tight grip.
so if you're like me -
find someone
skilled in the art of loosening your fingers,
listen to everything she says
and make her the one thing you never let go of.

i have never lived harder
and i have never lived better
the days i made apologies for all the unthinkable things i'd done
(for all the unimaginable things i am capable of)
and if ever there were a book written about my life i'd hope there were an entire chapter dedicated to the one who made every scrap of unbelievable forgiveness
available
freely

forward
is a road paved in the reminder that you never have to go back there.
i have a vivid memory.
so if you're like me -
find someone
with imagination
let her aim in your direction
and watch her become the one story you never tire of telling.

two cigarettes and every minute of eternity

the first minute felt achingly protocol -

silence implored

by the pure weight 

of words such as hers.  

i lit a cigarette hoping, that 

by the time of my exhale 

i might have formed a response 

bright enough to spark pardon 

into her tone,

yet something in my smoke lungs 

begged another drag - 

after all, 

no woman i could love,

would

cheapen her words 

to the worth of  

solely my response. 

one thing she taught me - 

no woman in the world 

wants anything in the world 

but to be listened to -  

and heard, 

the kind of heard that begs silence. 

the second felt justified, 

as if the first had been

the learning curve; 

time but to assemble - 

our past sins approaching 

and now face them, 

ready and patiently. 

i was apologetic 

that's a fact, 

yet even the guilty - 

comprehend mercy 

deep inside themselves 

wanting 

there to be 

something she sees - 

worth letting up for air. 

the third felt like subtle affirmation, 

like a long stop and dinner, 

then the climbing back into the truck 

for the next leg of the road. 

we were poised to brave the on and on.  

(there is a dark side of a full moon 

a danger in - 

even the sunlight; 

but there is joy in forward - 

toward the direction of what our hearts want, 

even, on the days that we don't make it there) 

i lit another cigarette, we 

were echoing each other's breathing 

full gasps of life - 

in and out 

like westbound transcontinental-locomotives 

nearly through the desert, 

nearly home.

the fourth felt like healing 

the fifth and sixth like resurrection - 

yet something in my smoke lungs begged another drag, 

after all, 

the only woman i could love, 

gave me two cigarettes

and every minute of eternity

to truly hear her, and 

in so doing 

form the only response  

worth such a beautiful voice. 

how infinitely hers, i am

in a field of lovelies
she is loveliest;
like all the pretty flowers 
to the one i gathered; like 
all the pretty flowers 
to the one i gave her, 
to the one she held on to

in a sky of lovers 
she is only.
spring, fall;
my fears were dressed for winter, 
she undid them like a warm summer 
never have i been so bare 
and never have i felt so pure  

when i see stars 
their staggered entrance into night 
like dim lit hallways, 
then brilliance; 
it is as though, 
they 
had hoped to remind me
how infinitely here and 
how infinitely heavens', 
they are

when stars see me 
my crescendoing reflection in the mirrors of her stare, 
i 
hope they are reminded 
how infinitely here and 
how infinitely hers, 
i am 

if you handed me the world

when she hands me the world 
i ask for it black, 
just cool enough to sip 
from a red tin cup
beneath a late afternoon sundown. 
when i hand she the world, 
she asks for it stirred
with sugar and soy milk
over ice cubes, 
beside me and that same sundown.

-----

one could spend his entire life 
chasing after places to see and be; 
so, she made me swear we’d spend our days
making the places we already were 
something worth seeing and being; 

(and someday,
the adventurers 
searching for the seven wonders of my 26th summer,
will find their guidebooks dead-ending  
beneath the hummingbirds of the los angeles river,
at the private delray beaches belonging to the owners of half-built condominiums, 
along the 2 am side-streets of southern boulevard,
beside the courtyard of a north palm beach panera bread, 
on the benches of a cafe and used bookstore in jacksonville, 
under the canopy of a brewery within the industrial district of suburbia orlando, 
in a hammock).  

and on the days you wonder,
how you'll ever cross 
from the failure you find yourself today 
to the person you've always hoped you might become; 
where the skies 
exchange there faded grays 
for the brightness you remember on those nights you used you dream;
she enters,  
like a bridge you never knew was constructible
like electric light, 
like flight, 
like impossible unfolding before your eyes, 
with body, hands, 
and a face like the winter constellations, 
and in an instant, 
the world is at your fingertips, 
like a story that wouldn’t let you blink even if you tried;
like paper airplanes 
and the speechless on your tongue, 
like the brightness in her lips, 
as they form i love you 
at last;
my world,   
is where she is, 
those sunsets -
really are the most colorful; 
those drives 
really are worth the miles; 
those moons, those 
cups of coffee, 
really are full, 
with the kinda full worth drinking fully;
and i am hers to the dregs.  

-----

if you handed me the world, 
it'd be five fragile fingers 
and her head on my shoulder, 
north los angeles
sundown.