When Erica says
I am feeling myself and jovial
I think of the orange
Tipped trees between
The buildings out
My window, their penknife
Leaves grazing like air-bound anemones
Haunted by the jellyfish
Forms of black plastic bags, today
My love turns another
Year older, youth
Though she is, her kind, fooling blue
Eyes kindle wonder and I find
Myself wishing for her
Happiness more often even
Than my own, a picture
Of the crest of her
Back in my mind, her sheepish
Smile tremoring the air
Into joyous throbs, the song
Says 'all the bleeding
Drums, celebration guns' and somewhere
She is drinking guaro, dark
Plaits of hair striating her already
Reddened face, I search
The pages of a Medical Encyclopedia
For images, place a diabetic
Within the coils of a Child-Headed
Blengin, her hand missing
A finger, the afternoon free
From employment, 'every breath
Death defying', so I go
Nowhere, make too much
Coffee, read a biography of Warhol
Call my dad, mull over
Health insurance, stretch out
On the couch and thrill
At the idea of my love’s impending
Touch, the plain
Of my chest pale beneath
Its T-shaped turf
Of curly hair, would that bodies
Could rearrange themselves
Like thought, that these gangly
Arms were telescoping
To where you are, the way
My eyes run over
The geography of where you were
And will be come Monday.
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