{h-hi}
( ...sil...ve...ry ...rhythmic...blues...firm,
loving, foliating in squinted eyes;
round,oilynosetunedtolilacson
ourwalkshavingme ...slow...
...slow... slow my urban pace;
...soft, thin wide lips,
a smile
for world peace;
all exposing young wrinkles : )
all one full, february moon pull-
ing tides out of me.
dark springs running gently
behind her earlobes, down
her ravine :
faithless dive, deep
towards dip of her neck
unto broad shoulders--never a woman
hiding her chest--small breasts,
warm nerves : lifting truce;
long shapely arms, elbows wide, as she prides,
"for a farm girl carrying a sheep or two"
under hippie-thick armpits :
ooh, swimming nearer with my beads;
hands, fingers, also long, strong, embracing mine {
smelling memory :
she focuses her manual camera ("oops-gotcha");
chops more onions for her moosewood recipe ("with a dash of 'zap mamas'");
rewrites her latest stanza (before pressing record);
studies a rock ("see, a river was here");
performs pushups on her knuckles ("i kick aaaasss");
extends a yoga stance ("now everyone,...'breathe'");
raises her palms, shakes them, lets out her manic roar
("rarr!--silly stress of life");
} as our forearms twine, sign a duet {
us at night sitting on a bed of grass or on carpet,
strength of her (rare) hug from behind, her hands
together under my sternum, her dimple chin laying
on either of my collar bones, a side of my face feeling
her smile, feeling her cheekbone resonate�
more real when she sings�};
space of her upper back;
spine's long trail, dark mole centered quietly;
wiry ribcage--me, always, aligning, my breathing, with hers;
meat of her strong stomach,
growing love-handles;
increasing rainbow of her hips;
round tush, even as it gets
tushier;
firm thighs, firm calves,
feet, soft on top, soles tight from a day's work :
legs no longer foreign braided with mine;
complexion
( was i blind? ),
pink sun, oil, hair,
cartilage, muscle, cellulite
( all equal to my brown );
her entire temple, diverse congregation,
fellowship inside :
wanting to whisper shout
laugh cartwheel all in one praise
as she's dancing ballet to felix mendelssohn;
practicing martial arts;
climbing trees,
connecting constellations;
tossing a fun scarf around her neck,
hip-swaying glamorously against glamor;
snoring loud, sleeping in some strange contortion
hogging up an entire futon;
acting with protestors in middle of main street
as corpses floating against a war ship...
now : not for burning incense while sipping her tea
am i offering a list of how she sings,
none exists with me breathing unconditionally;
nor having her, years from now, rediscovering
an overgrown haiku in her shoebox;
initiating a phone call;
but for me twisting a towel downstream,
hoping You, Yeshua, will have me
forgive (her, and, mostly,) myself
...for what happened�
{y-yea-h.}
and david cried
amen.