i
a  m
positive
that   you
are  made  of
s  t   a  r   d  u  s  t
and  water  balloons,
oil  pastels  and  the
collecti­on          of
settled     sugar
at             the
b o t  t o m
of      my
c u p s
o     f
t e a

carving your name
in wet cement
where it will dry
forever till
it gets ripped up
is a naive attempt
to remain
permanent

"well if he's god he
already knows my
tricks, and I'm always
playing tricks, I can't
ask for something without
and ulterior motive, so I don't
ask at all.

I didn't bother with it anymore"

the flint
and the
fire, all
together

for once I choose
to dip us (then) in
honey, steep us in
jasmine, I am not
sugar-coating, just
preserving, just for
once forgetting that
bad happens, that
good can stay if you
let
it.

the wife at the
house over, you
can hear her laugh
over her baby radishes
and the sound of water
on wet soil, soft talking
two stories up, i hear her
and she tells her husband
look, look what we have
look, look what we have.
look, look what we have.
I want to be as happy
as she is
someday