I want to bottle this air just for you
I wish I could wrap it up and bring it back!
If I could hold my breath long enough this would be easier.
So I think you should just come with me next time
So I can kiss you

I wish you could feel this breeze
I wish you could come above the clouds!
If I had a fan just gentle enough then maybe I could show you.
Until then I think you should just come with me
So I can brush my fingers through your hair.

I wish you could see these flowers
I wish you could see these colours!
If I could show you the shades of your eyes maybe then you'd see
So next time I think you should just follow me
And we can smell the same flowers together

I wish you could feel these hands,
I wish you could feel these lips!
If I could place a kiss on your cheek and my hands on your hips
Maybe I wouldn't have to ask you to follow me
And we could smell the same flowers together
And roll around in the same grass
Forever.

Sun setting
touching tops
of mountains.
Their shadows
stretching,
miles longer than they are tall.
Do you remember
when we were in love
with laughing?
Both giddy
and dancing
tip toe
on the tops of sleeping titans.
We were so young.
Watching our shadows stretch
across the valley floor.
We danced
and sung songs
and drank up the sun til drunk.
We didn’t care,
we were giants.

Staring at this glass I'm holding in my hand
I wonder why they serve it with a plastic little pirate sword
and a storm starts brewing in the sky, up above-
CRACK like a lightening bolt from in the sky, up above
...up above.

Sword in hand I am the captain here of my ship,
staring at my drink I see the waves that break upon the rocks
I see new horizons every time i'm turning keel
and every time I'm turnin I see new sunsets a'burnin
...sunsets are burning.

Bounce off the rocks for a drink or two, all night through,
not really sure where I'm going to, don't have a clue,
-maybe I'll find a way...
-hey, bartender, mister Poseidon now,
the tide's gone out,
I've beached my ship.
and when I look around I see this ain't the place I wanna be.
So top me up
and set my sails,
I know you know that I just want to be free.
Sword in hand I am the captain here of my ship,
it's not called drinking when you're sailing to another land.
No no, thank you, I've never used a crew before
and I'll drift like this for days if I need to.

And I need to.

"This poem,"
She says,
Her words a waterfall I could fall asleep to
And never hope to dream of sunlight brighter than.
"It is so sweet,"
The word rolls off her tongue and onto mine,
Strawberries and coconuts and paradise.
"She must be very special."

We trade words like old coins,
Rattling them in our piggybanks
Until they clink past our teeth
And onto the floor between us.
Coin for coin,
They slide in exchange.
Fair is fair,
Each is stashed in the others collection.
And when we leave,
I know our sums have stayed the same,
But somehow I always feel richer.

step one:
do not look at their mouth,
for you will expect to see rivers flowing from it,
poetry slipping through the space between their lips
in the same way that the wind slips through the space underneath a door,
but instead you will only see spit and saliva
and a tongue too big for its home.

step two:
do not look at their hands,
for you will expect them to craft cities from marble right before your very eyes,
but instead it will be just the thumbs,
the twiddling of thumbs,
the aimlessness, the senselessness,
the lack of experience with building empires.

step three:
do not look at their eyes,
for they say that the eyes are the windows to the soul,
and when you see that the curtains have been drawn,
you will feel so very alone.

step four:
i did not love you.
you have to repeat it.
i did not love you.
i did not love you.
i did not love you;
i loved what i thought you would be.
i thought you would be eden,
but you were only the apple.

step five:
i suppose i am to blame here
for digging holes too big to fill,
for crafting shoes too big to fit in.
and for that i am sorry.
i am sorry that i expected more from you
than i even expect from myself.

step six:
human.
human.
let the word roll off and around your tongue,
let it cover every inch of the inside of your mouth.
say it. over and over again.
say it. like it is foreign and you need to know what it means.
say it.
and when you have said it enough times and it feels
dull, old,
disappointing,
you will know that we are nothing more than flesh and bone,
and that as much as we wish there were gods among us,
flesh always rots in the end.
this is the beast of truth that we cannot outrun.
hands cannot craft cities from marble
if only given clay.

step seven:**
do not let this frighten you.
clay, after all,
was meant for molding.

(a.m.)

How quiet it must have been
for you, Michael Collins...
How calm it must have seemed
for you, Michael Collins...
How tranquil you must have felt
up there alone
with no one on the radio,
except for you, Michael Collins...

Doing something no one had done
with no one around to see
because you were in a place no one had been
with no way to share what you saw
because even radios fail that far away from home.
But not you, Michael Collins...

How dark was it in there
with not even the sun to guide your way?
How still was the air
with not even the wind to make a sound?

How many times did you ask yourself,
Michael Collins,
if you would ever see home again?
How many times did you think to yourself,
Michael Collins,
that you might not ever again
see the faces you remember?

On that clearest night,
did the stars not seem brighter than before?
Upon coming into the sun again,
did you,
Michael Collins,
not feel lighter than before?

It must have been strangely startling
to have been startled by that strange crackle
coming from the radio.
For another human voice to sound so foreign
yours must have been a lie.

How did it feel leaving that void,
Michael Collins,
and crashing back into existence?
How soon did it feel,
to you, Michael Collins,
that your feet were back on the ground?

I imagine you must miss that silence.
...
I imagine you must
from time to time
walk far far away
and look at the stars.

I would ask you one question if I could,
Michael Collin,
on the clearest night
when you look up into that darkness
have the stars ever been brighter than before?