i feel like i owe you a love letter
(or at least an apology):
my love
letters have always been born
of spark, burning bits of bark
or grass, ash -- elements consumed by morning
fed to wind
departed

i do not love
you flash and fade
surge then break

you are underneath all the soil
you are warm and solid and everything
we move together everywhere, slow
but always together moving:
until the heart goes ice we are
together moving, and even in silence
in darkness we will be together
unmoving

i do not love you thunder
i love you stream:
sometimes roar but often murmur
heard but hidden somewhere among the oaks and maples
not tucson wash that flows twice a year
but new york stream that ices over,
floods springtime, bows deep into late summer,
always cuts
steady etch deeper every day until we are
grand canyon love,
see it from space love,
lasts like mountains love

i wish
i could write
these words
smaller,
origami them
through your pores
dissolve them into
your blood

feels
too true
to be
louder
than whisper