I don't know how
the birds always stay singing
& the trees' leaves always
grow back,
greener than before,
while I get smaller inside with
each passing fall.

Everyone says that I am
a perfect fit,
but no one ever wears me.

"Something along those lines, yes."
& that's just it, that's what I am--
something that can never quite walk the line;
shy-girl, watching-girl,
always-on-the-tip-of-my-tongue-girl,
dancing around the main idea,
the true center of the words.
I am along the lines,
between the notes,
& you are the greatest symphony.

They asked me,
"What do       you see?"
& in each on                                                                          e I saw you,
in a different sh                                    ade, a different  
distance away (calling                                                 to me? Reaching out?),  
     so I said I saw a                                          few ducks & an old  
   woman smok                                                                ing a cigarette  
& someth                            ing like a
scho                 ol bus,
but you are not those things.

I do not see
the diamonds in you.

Sometimes I look at
the sky & wonder
how much bluer
it could get, & just
when I think that
there is no limit,
the sky turns on me
& asks me, "how
blue can you get?"
& then I realize that
the scariest part of
me is that I just don't
know where the



























bottom is.