Cherry Blossoms - Santa Cruz, 02/12/10

My fingertips are drunk.  They need to write that they love you.  I need to believe that I do too.

There are cherry blossoms blooming today- premature and jolting against the fog.   Winter has barely begun, to the extent that winter even exists here,  and everyone is scurrying around waiting for the sun to break through.


I think in poetry since I met you,
words feel lyrical
as we discover each other

Most things you say,
I want to remember
I stumble to catch them
as they slip between your lips
transcribing your thoughts on to imaginary paper

blank white printer paper
paper without lines –
you would hate it otherwise

I am sinking into you,
as you describe how guitar chords can evolve
how stringed instruments take flight
my day is filled with elegies to sound
your words softly move from your mouth to mine
and i listen carefully to the sound they make
-water gently rippling
cut off before it gets to travel too far.

you are my paperweight
I lay smiling,
eyes wide-

I can’t manage to feel close enough to you,
My instinct is to squeeze tighter,
to somehow melt into you,
atoms colliding,
cosmic exchange
movement towards and away
–tug of war with sinew and ankles,
ultimately staying in the same spot,
unsure how long you’ll be staying

there is a gap in me,
one that I am not rushing to fill-
i am enjoying the space you’re taking up
reshaping things to make a place for yourself

there is no sorry here,
no promise,
just the soft sunlight
and skin
and sharp white moments.

i am watching you,
watching your hands touch me

your hands are cold,
your fingers poking through the uneven holes of your gloves,
holes you cut so you could type outside during northern California winters –
track pads forcing your fingertips through woven cotton,
creating tiny escape routes for your skin
to touch parts of me
that had been forgotten