My grasp is failing
on this thing that like
a silk sheet filters through
my fists, I am starting to understand.

This thing is
the embrace of blood
flowing circulary
in our fingertips and veins.

Together and ebullient
bouyant, bouncing
at the bony freckled feel
of arms, the soapy smell
of our dirt hair and lemon eyes.

It is not the warm months of
being sticky happy in the dark
wooden, refridgerator-lighted
kitchen.

I grasp at something greater
a finish and a start
to pull me back from
poisonous tides,
slipping hillsides.

Its the track of
everyone I've ever been
Because my truth
is that I'm only
me with them.

A track to run
and time to spend.
Finding our ways
back again
in little toothy
smile moments

Stars in the daytime
or ships in the dark
They're my finish
they're my start