7:12
and today I wait for you to compose me into vibrancy.
to tug me out of this dried mood where the air feels still and stiff.
8:30
and
my hands,
the exact hands of my mother,
long-fingered piano hands, though she is not musical
at all, hold cigarettes like
my grandfather did, before he had to give up
smoking, but my mouth, slightly too full, is mine,
and mine alone
10:26:
and I tell my longing heart to wait.
things will be poetic
sooner or later.
10:45
and I was thinking about photographs
at the sea shore; people
amongst waves and sand, kisses and sun.
i started thinking about my own line,
how i wanted to be a damp impression,
like almost-dry paint
splattered on a tuesday canvas.
10:52
and i think
i want to be painted on.
breathed in.
breathed out
and sung to.
11:00
and though I'm
not ready, think
God:
i wish you'd whisper something.
reveal an answer.
shatter windows and doorways.
grow my wings.
12:15
and
tonight I will wait for you to compose me into calm
to lose your hand in my tangled hair, press the other into my back
like the quiet sensation of love easing itself along my spine
