i

Love wears red boots.
They click faster on the sidewalk
as I  hurry to catch up.
I just want to ask her something.
She gives me that look that says
I'm sorry, but I can't help you:
smile tight to the teeth, sad eyes.
She looks uncomfortable
and a little bit afraid of me,
so I thank her for her time
and pretend I just remembered
there's somewhere else I need to be.

ii

Love is a crone
sitting at a sticky table,
cigarette in one hand
stained mug in the other, saying
And the whole time, she thought it was me!
to a round of ugly laughter.

we grew up poor together
and didn't really like each other,
but when you have nothing, it's nice
to have company,

so we did what poor kids do; we stuck together,

taking breaks from being poor in the afternoon woods,
where nobody was dressed nicer than us
and the creek didn't care
that our shoes didn't fit.

Anna, I love you because
nobody knew how sad we were.

Born of the same star,
you and I,
cradled in the arms
of a spiral galaxy;
our dreams for  death were

bird, volcano, reef

and we did not go easy—
no soft snap of filament,
or  cosmic campfire left to smolder.

We were spectacular;

but that was a billion years ago.
Now we have no word
for the infinite nostalgia
of those aeons spent sleeping,

no reason we can think of
that every night before we met
felt like a thousand light years, collapsed.

Your advice is appreciated,
but I think that instead of
the 'three shining coins
and a lonely crossroads' thing,
I'll just write him a poem.

I'm still like a child
with love—

wanting more than my share,
impatient, reckless.

An unruly student,
I have learned nothing

except this:

Love is indefinite and
ill-defined,

but we should study
together
sometime.