taking the long way around but coming back to words that want to sing….
you tell me.
the shuffled whisk of approaching rain,
leaves lifting and swirling in slow motion wind,
how her chin lowers when your voice shakes,
waves thrashing your stones and worries and
pulling them to the sea,
his tender heart searching futily until
it’s easier to look ahead than back,
savoring the near orgasmic center of the artichoke,
watching the fire crackles in the pitch of night;
you: when destiny calls.
me: when happenstance delivers.
You tell me this is not the way miracles appear
and I will tell you
to look again.