i was probably younger than i am now

once as a child

i was walking along the shore
of a north carolina beach
and i saw a kite
someone was flying
so very very high
and i never had the
patience for kites because
once you get them up there
they just kinda stay.
there is this initial

thrill of a rising action

and then lots of

just being there.

well, i might have missed the point
because the kite
rips into the wind
the wind
and the kite
remains.

i would like to be a kite.
i have always had the rising action.
i tear myself from the earth
with the best of them.
i would like to stay afloat

roaring above at great heights.

yes.
and i will need someone
to help hold my twine
so i do not fly away
and

to brush the sand off of me

if i do get clumsy and fall.

sea level schmea level double beet level

sometimes i feel like sea level is a myth

what the hell is sea level

and why the hell does it matter

to me, i live on land,

anyway,

maybe what i mean is

whatever my level is

is you

because i am always running downhill

and the moment i level out and

feel myself calm and at home

is you.

‘i wonder if Love wears bedroom slippers in the evening’

one of the many things
difficult about writing a poem
about love is how alike
love poems look.

2nd person pronoun verb
article superlative
noun first person pronoun
adverb verb
, most likely.

i guess part of the problem
is that words on a ‘page’

be it in a book or browser tab

always look like words on a page.

and love, well
she’s a mover and a shaker.
not only does she rarely ‘look’
like love, it can often be difficult
to identify her at all.

i am changing a dirty diaper – chore
i am changing you, sweet girl,
so you don’t get a rash and because
you cannot yet do this for yourself – love

a miracle, i would say, that two things can be
one
but anyway, i’m digressing.

i want to write a poem
that shows the love i see
in you
and it is impossible.

maybe, darling, that’s because
how you love is impossible
beyond what should and should not be
as if mountains could also be
the roaring sea at the same time.

your love is a miracle
because it is who you are
it is your breath it is your skin
it is how you move, and so
you do not even realize,
i think
how powerfully you love.

anyway,

your love matters.

it matters to me,
it makes me better,
it is the kind of thing,
your love
that makes the world
well,
it is the kind of love that makes the world.

it gives me hope
everywhere else
that a love like yours
exists at all.

your love shakes the earth
with quiet steps.

i hear them
i feel them
thank you for being,

- yours.

she is not made to be quiet, Love

Love entered the room through double doors

as minglers mingled quietly
mumbling into crystal glasses
filled with empty reds and bubbling whites

Beautiful blues scanned the crowd of minglers drowning in mahogany and choking on their echoes beneath a vaulted ceiling

She made eye contact with the room at once, as only Love can do, and spoke at full volume without raising her voice.

she didn’t say anything but i don’t think she’s much of a talker

i whispered softly to the wind
as she fluttered through your hair
as i pressed my lips to your neck and
i cannot tell you what i asked of her
that would be rude however
i can give you a hint or a
nudge in the right direction
ok fine i’ll just tell you i
asked her to carry your scent to me
on days we are far apart so that i
may remember you always.

it’s a metaphor, folks

they were sitting in a parked car.

they faced away from each other and her arms were crossed.

his hands were in his lap.

they love each other, these two,
by the way, it’s just
their posture exhibits differently
once in a while.

what’s so amazing he said
eyes holding steady on the side-view mirror
is that the fire never goes out.

she nodded silently
a quarter inch of affirmation
and he sensed the movement.

every time i think the fire
has burned itself to embers
glowing in the dark,

he paused and turned to her
his shoulders and the muscles of
his upper back pressed against the
seat as his weight shifted.

he watched the curve in her neck
as he spoke, she she still held her eyes
up and away and to the right.

her breathing pattern changed
and he heard it and saw the
dip in her posture
that practically screamed i love you, too,
i am listening, please continue.

something stokes what i thought was ash
maybe i catch your scent again or
i see the way you look at me and
flames again lick the night sky
towering over 
silhouettes of pines and oak
drowning out the moon and stars
and . . . well. you know. 

and it never stops. 
it is a fire that burns 
and instead of running out of fuel
and heat this inferno only 
grows and i hope that’s ok
with you.