September 5, 2016

i wonder if you still sleep on a bed of marigolds
and if the petals still cling to your heel like divine attendants and sing their
velveteen song when their delicate skins are broken
you see, i know you must
because every hyacinth morning i wake up with rose water in my mouth
and i know i have been dreaming of you
dear lover, dear songbird, is the sun rising for you too?
the sun looks like your watercolors
the ones you painted just to make me laugh
you are creation
you are desire
you are dew on grass
you are everything i still can’t quite catch in syllables
please, don’t ask me if i miss you
i miss you like i miss the equinox
i miss you like i miss the glow of a firefly in a mason jar
i have been a nightingale since you left
all I have sung is the coming spring
but writers know that words do nothing
they don’t make change happen any faster
they can’t melt the snow, they can’t help the the poppy bloom
and they can’t bring you back to me any faster
i remember the spring we spent with each other
when we grew together like two plants leaning toward the sun
then, it made sense that we celebrated love in a season of frost
but we are now two flowers growing alone in the winter
separated by a river, by a journey, by longing
but i am praying for some flouncing heart to come pluck us from the ground
and put us in a glass vase just so we can twist our stems together and wilt
even if i am never uprooted, i will begin the voyage myself
in a paper boat without a bottom
i am coming with handfuls of soil in my fists
keep a seed safe for me
when i come back you may not be you and i may not be i
but the night i return will be a poem in our story
i will pluck the stars like apples from the dense branches  
of evening for you
and use the nectar to water the seed
into some new sapling  
and it will be gold
and it will be green
and it will be ours