the shrubbery looked like sheep
pale like your grandmother before she died
and I climbed though the hills to find you
but this is not your country, this is not your land
the tires shook like trembling hands and we made eye contact through the fog,
signed our names in the mud,
splintered out hands on telephone poles,
replaced our veins for the roots of weeds
said they look about the same,
the waves looked tamed,
I think we'll make out okay.
then I started running, crushing yellow toys under my toes
and you chased after me,
bringing an east dust
that we inhaled like like smoke
and exhaled in a kiss.
we followed the spill in the floorboards
and held eyes
we wet our fingertips like paintbrushes
and stroked 'I love you' 'cross our noses.
you made stories of the dead leaf branches,
told me they were only clouds
but I mistook that for clowns
and I laughed over my shoulder.
you caught me as I fell
and so we fell together
into our favorite weather
soaked our clothes in promises we don't worry about keeping
they will keep themselves
and I'll keep you
here in the tangles of my scarf
in the pictures of my mind
and in the smiles that we breathe.
I traded oxygen for this
and I have never breathed easier,
I have never trusted better,
I have never known this color.
dawn comes with black lids and dimmed stars,
we head home with lightbulb hearts.