You gave her bouquets of branches,
because she saw more beauty
in sticks than flowers.
And today I was asked what phase
the moon would be in tonight,
to decide how discreetly
he could kayak on an overly patrolled lake,
beneath the stars.
Seven cigarettes and others,
to ease the tribulation of a
warm lonely summers night,
where unplanned contacts,
led to strange content.
A book and a boy and a pen,
and a thousand words
that had yet to be inspired,
through a faulty habit
that took paychecks and too many hours.
Darkness molded itself around my peripherals,
like the ones your grandfather watches baseball out of,
and the love that pushed through the cloudiness,
to enter my cornea with grasping motions
from pretty faces with laughter to spread but no dime to spare.
They are the reason why
In a small church parking lot
I found beauty in the delicacy of change,
and the way things can crumble
and bloom,
so very near to each other.