As I watch the sun go down over the pines.
I can't help but think how home smells like gin.
And how there's a certain irony to that.
How I want to drown myself in it.
And forget I ever left.

I want you to know that you are precious to me.

Not precious like some rare stone around a ring finger or
a sentimental gift.

precious like a photograph of a child in your wallet.
precious like a young girl finding kitten wearing red ribbon under her Christmas tree.
precious like a young girl holding cardboard box kitten.
precious like a mother Glowing. singing to her belly
precious like a mother holding a cardboard box.
precious like ashes on a fireplace.
precious like a photograph in a wallet.

see, when I met you.
we had no idea how long we'd love each other.
we didn't question we did.

when you said you were leaving.
I Asked, "do you have a bucket list?"

What's next?
We did everything on it.
Went skinny dipping,
Climbed a rooftop
Went to a seafood restaurant
Because, you hadn't yet.

Then the day before you left you said:
"I love you"
quiet.
underneath your breath, so I wouldn't notice.

"what was that?"
I would ****.
You'd turn 50 shades of red.

"You've sure been sending a lot of hearts through text lately.
did you say you love me?"

You nodded, but never spoke up.

I kissed you.
"I love you too."

You didn't say it again for awhile, but,
I did.
So many times that I lost track
then every once in awhile
1,595 Miles away.
you'd send me a facebook message
you were wearing my cologne, you missed me, you loved me.

I would glow brighter than the moon each time.

Now you're coming back.
In just one week I get to hold you again.
kiss you again.
like a photograph jumping out of it's film to breath.
You are so precious to me.
Just thinking about touching your hand.
looking you in the eyes to hear you say any words to me.
Listen to your dreams, Build us a living room, and Make them happen!
because every precious thing happens there.
A fireplace, a Christmas tree, a carpet covered in pointy children's toys.
Your clumsy body and my clumsy body, interlocking fingers watching pointless Television.

Because we can.
Because you're home.

My relentless search for
The most beautiful
Is over.

You came to my lap
Leaned this graceful
Head on my upper
Tight,

Covered with
The puffiest blanket
So familiar to us.

And Thou are ~
The eloquent Elegance,
The proof for the Sacred
Geometry, alive, warm
And lovingly cuddly.

I adore Thou blackest
Dots, above your Feline
Fangs, hidden as your
Cat's conundrum; When

Rest, how
Thou charm seeps
In me; like classy  
Lion paws
Streched,

Touching my hand
Lovingly.

I trickle my fingers across
Whitest beard, and savannah
maroone blackness.

Jade consciousness opens up,
And starts to purr, pressing my
Wrist tenderly when me writes.

So it finally stopped snowing
And it's now quite sunny.
So many things now begin their growing,
And honey from bees will be overflowing.
Strangers in the street gift their smiling.

It'll be good for a while,
Everyone happy and fun.
Can't wait to come
And play In the sun.
In a few months though,
they'll think quite differently.
All their fun and laughing
Will turn to anxiety:
"Why is it so hot,
why can't I find relief?"
"I can't wait for the cold,
Snow will look so pretty."
So, then do you not see?
That the "now" that be
Will never make you happy
Until you learn to just be.

You had two pet rabbits, one named Mickey the other Maurice,
who lived on lettuce bits and behind thin metal bars.
A caged environment set up on the study's wood floors,
with books and a red couch to keep company

and your mom, because she would finish her graphs and stats
on the mahogany desk living in the corner of the room
and she liked the rabbits purr and delicate noses
and would hold them and pet them

when she put down her pen and moleskin and accounts
because, although caged and bought at Pet World
in the strip mall across from Adult World
on the other side of Interstate 67, these rodents gave her comfort,

reminding her of Maine and Jonathan
who abstained from going and killing for sport
with his brothers when they went, in pickups
with buckshot and murdered deer and rabbits,

because she still missed Jon and bought these fluffy
white creatures for 47.99, a good deal,
and they came with a little rock house
that they could sleep and burrow under

like Jon and herself, snuggled in Maine,
away from Palo Alto. So every time I come over,
to have *** and eat dinner and listen
to what you learned to play on piano,

I stop by the study to see Maurice
and Mickey and feel the presence of Jonathan
and the sticky suburban sadness of your mother,
while keeping a secret promise close to my heart,
that I'll never become an accountant.

I have a memory of those days
In Maine, with crashing coastal waves

When reading was a future right
Mom read, “Blueberries for Sal” at night

And that huge nameless tree in the field
At dark, a dinosaur concealed

Walking a stray black cat with a string
That ran up a tree and could not cling

Mom had to climb that tree, pregnant
And retrieve the remains and remnants

I remember those days, quite well
And the fake Christmas tree smell

The revolving multi colored light
That lit our fake tree until Twelfth night

In Maine there is snow, whiter than white
And memories that induce me to recite

Sand-crusted catacombs of dismembered dreams
Settle beside memories of the child who grew up

In rocky Harpswell, Maine. Not many beaches,
Only a foggy stretch beyond Morse Mountain --

But I used to stand ankle-deep
In the water, wait until my toes sank

Into crystalized Earth
And bubbles from Littleneck clams.  

I’d stand there until goosebumps spread upon
My blanched legs, rising up, up, like the artificial hills

Of Maya Lin’s Storm King Wavefield.
Now, when I lie alone,

Misplaced inside a vacant Manhattan studio,
I surrender to sirens and accelerated lives.

Peace comes in painting – thick oil,
Violet and claret on stretched canvas,

Depictions of neon signs and cityscapes,
Cheap t-shirt stands on street corners,

And 24-hour coffee shops with “specialty”
Blends in little white travel mugs – selling

To flocks of strangers, strutting like pigeons on cement
Sidewalks, pretending they belong.

It's hard to think-
this time last week-
I was searching for weeds-
in the cracks of the street-
in front of the church-
Where I once worked-
In the sun, hardwork-
Pulled weeds all day till my hands hurt-

I was working at the shelter when he found me-
said son you need to leave-
move out, get out of this town-
because you ain't happy, and you sure as hell ain't proud.

Back to flint-
crime hole of Michigan-
where I once lived-
when I was a kid-
where the buildings look like ****-
and the streets smell like ****-

It's been six years since I left for Maine-
I've searched flint up and down for a familiar face-
the only thing familiar was the old cafe-
we spent summers here, breakfast everyday.

Lady at the counter asked "sweetie what's your name"-
She was cleaning the tables while I had my tea-
She said they don't pay her enough for this ****.
I said "you still make more than me"

She recognized my face-
I asked her if She remembered any of my friends-
We used to come here everyday-
After school. For burgers and shakes-

I explained, I never kept in touch-
I'm not the type to, And even if I did-
they wouldn't hear from me that much-

I told her what had happened. How I lost my house in flames. I have no where to stay, not my parents, and I don't have any friends.

She said she remembered you. She remembered how we were always
together.

Asked if you still lived in town-
She said yeah-
she sees you sometimes, hanging around.

She set a glass down-
Poured some tea-
Shared a cup with me-
She said I don't want to be involved with you-
Asked her what she means.

Welcome home. She said.
She winked. Again.
Napkin and a pen.
Gave me an address.

Out past the green light,
Past The fairgrounds.
I drive out and around.
And found my self nearly out of gas.
Every light stayed green as I would pass.
There was never any traffic in this town. Or at least none that would last.
Drive past old miss myrtles.
Her house was covered in vines.
She used to leave her window open,
Set there fresh baked pies.
I wonder of she's alive.
I found your house.
Boarded up.
Two men came out.
Undone zippers and button ups.
One laughed and smirked, pretty girl.
Worth every dime.
The veins in my neck popped and i clenched my fists at my side.
You walked out side.

You stood there, so beaten.
It's clear that you've eaten,
Some fists in your life.
You walked back in side.
It's too late to hide,
The black bruises, your eyes.
Don't try and disguise it's too late for make up and lies.
Drugs and money on the table.
Your life's a pond that stands still.
One drop or touch,
And you shake and waver, the flavor is enough.
Holes in the roof.
Teeth on the ground.
Trash and needles,
Radio blaring loud.
Outside traffic.
Busted lips, white noise.
In a crib, a witnessing
little boy.
Thought of you more and more.
Saw a sign, you were what I came home for.
Not your arm full of scars,
Or face full of sores.
All my friends have left and gone.
Numbers lost.
Seems like this whole town is dead.
Every street lights stuck on red.