There are oceans in my body,
In your eyes,
And between us.

I have walked on water before and drowned.
My holy arms and legs said names and wrapped men as presents that they didn't deserve to be.

I am prone to wishful thinking
And my rapidly closing eyes
Are already building sandcastles.

Tear them down.
Tear them down.
Like you wore and tore me down.

Set me on fire and end me.
Nothing and too much are two extremes I have lived in.
Now bridge them and let me die.

What poem will you wear, when first we meet?

How will I recognition-you,
when you transverse my land?
Unknown our faces, our voices,
Only silent words electronic exchanged

Will lantern, it be: one, if by land, two, if by sea?
Will your ID badge, passport stamped and state,
Your chest bear a witness-sign?

The Arrivals Board flashes:
                    une poétesse est arrivé
                    eine Dichterin ist angekomme
                    a poetess has arrived
                    una poetisa ha llegado

Will there be a haiku in your hair,
A limerick exposed by raucous grin,
Or just ten words
allotted for your entire visit?

Desperate to locate
Urgent to sensate
Matters I take
Into two cupped hands,
On the shoeshine stand
Climb and recite-shout

Know me by my words,
Know me by the lilt lyrical
Of my American accented,
Canadian Tongue of my mother

Know me by my words,
Carved by time on my forehead,
Poetry is the blood of this fool's soul,
Hear me, find me, look upon me slamming

Poems are the thorns in my palms,
See me crucified, bleeding stanzas
Upon my shoeshine stand cross
Recitation resuscitation welcoming:

Benedicting Gloria, Gloria, Gloria

But if this should fail your attention to secure,
Or the TSA unappreciate my second coming,
Look for the crowd gathered round,
A man of moderate height, in a tall hat,
Beard scraggly, looking sorrowful
Reciting the Gettysburg Address

Either way,
Should be easy peasy to find me,
Grab your bag, off to short-term parking

This is how an Americana poet meets n' greets
Arriving poetess from a foreign land

Is there any other way?
------------------------------
Postscipt
Alas, five years on and I know in my heart
that you are not coming...

My mom got me a pair
of blue jeans
I never used to wear
Buttoning and zipping
was a pain

Then we got a dress code
And jeans
Only,
I could wear
But not blue
Too casual

And so they sat forgotten
...
Until a few years later
In a rush
I grabbed something
to wear
and it was
...
...
...
My blue jeans