Each morning
brightens
visibly
at my approach,
busking birds
and snoring
garbage trucks.

The mailman
refuses
to let me carry
my boxes,
and the bills pay
themselves.

Hands on hips,
popped akimbo,
I just want to hold something
that's angry at me.

We negotiated natural wonders
and local history,
settled on county museums,
filled our days with boring
plans
to be somewhere new,
but not get distracted.

Every few hours
I convince myself
all the edges are
sinking
and the air's gone
rotten.

Until the next corner
where some crooked smile
stabs me sober.

What shady grace,
as tall as trees,
you refuse to not
look up at me.

Scared of nothing
or sometimes
anything,
you somehow know
what's made for
climbing.

Your thunderstorm
of giggles
booms our sleepy
spirits,
insists that it's morning,
and therefore, time to
laugh.

Little girls,
you stir me
with electric
beauty bolts,
shock me into sharing,
then soothe my
scared-of-nothing
with ambushes
of touch.

You have no clue
just how your
brazen
boyish
bouncing
bombing,
dares me to dancing,
demands me my best.

Got up early
beat the birds
found their secrets
sold them all.

My fingers through your hair
leaves your hair
through my fingers.

We chase each other
in circles,
cause we like
where we're at.