I've written the word "you" countless times
to represent countless people
on countless pages
as I've aged I've become unable to place
exactly which "you"
belonged to who
because
Y
O
U
was easier to write down
than the names of the subjects
I knew I shouldn't be proud of

they all blur together
the faces
the letters
the shame I ignored
the love that I forced
the chapters in my life
I was too ashamed to identify
but one thing is clear
through all the past-poetry-opaqueness:

I know I'll never struggle to place
the word for the sound of rain
the laugh that sounds like a hearth
the effortless extemporization
the sound of your beating heart

June.

even the four letters of your own name
could never do justice
to the beauty of your being
that no word can capture
no dialect, no vernacular
you are more complex
than language
than pen on paper
and that is why I love writing about you
June,
I know I'll never get it right
but *******
do I want to try.