This is a poem for a friend. She's been a good friend despite our circumstances and I want her to be happy with all my heart. This is for you, lovely.
I know you smolder inside.
The charred halves of buildings and trees
and life itself,
All these still hot beneath their black
The embers though,
scattered across this city
of your heartbeat,
their ashes providing
the softest bed for curls of remedial vines
- - to sprout slowly forth,
- - - to spread their healing leaves,
- - - - to bud, small and hopeful at first,
- - - - - to grow lush and green and new and then,
That will be the day
you give your heart
It will be whole,
the city born anew,
from soil rich with ash.
If you can just imagine
that first love which still burns you now,
still pricks you with thorns—
grown over, in time, by carpets
of velvet grass and wild strawberries and clover—
serving as the anchor
for roots of second love:
re-grown, rebuilt, a more beautiful land.
I do know what I have.
I know what skin my kisses land upon.
Each day I awake to find a home
at the center of my soul,
rushing water, swaying branches, warm breeze,
a place of colorful buildings and
pieces of sunshine,
mixed in with the rain I love.
These days I dance more,
I sing more,
though I do not dance and I do not
It’s just, this body won’t stay still
and this mouth,
it won’t stay shut
for even lack of tune.
My throat hums the happiness
pulsing in my veins.
Our heavenly bodies
May not be perfect spheres,
Nor hollow mouths
Unflawed with perfect crystal teeth.
But whoever decided
that perfection was beautiful anyway?
I think that places and people
and the people
places lead to
are far more meaningful
when marred with footprints.
In places I may walk in your stead,
in places I may walk beside you.
Your wings are still at your back,
Ready for you to fly,
To orbit around a planet that is solely yours,
To twirl in a cape
Of hair I once said
Was a mixture of rust and sunlight.
Fly into that sky, Moon,
and take your place among the stars.
Far more beautiful,
and a thousand times