I am like you.
Sometimes I spin the world
with an eye-closed whirl.
I point and touch the ripples of a pink continent.
I fill my carry-ons with fear
and return with the seasons as a souvenir.
I taste the Florida in oranges.
I smell green waves of the South China Sea
with every mug of tea.
Fall from the sky with me.
Where we land the earth is new.
I am like you.
Sometimes you say, let’s hide beneath this forest.
It is dark and the wind blows
through the fields where no one goes.
Tonight, let’s take shelter in moon shadows.
Let our eyes be either closed or locked
let our company be dead wood and living rock.
Tomorrow we will walk to a new village
enter like a circus in a small box
leave shoes at the door, make friends in our socks.
Our photo albums will be filled with mirrors.
We will use coat pegs for hanging our full hearts
each warm dessert will be a failed new start.
You are like me.
Sometimes you see our coasts as razor wire
and try to put out waterbuckets with fire.
You chase gravediggers at night
and fill their holes with poems
about soldiers coming home.
We will come home someday too.
There will be much eye contact with you
and dancing when we do.
I will carry you through the door.
The space inside will seem like too much
on the day we will first touch.
You will be sleepy from the sound of rain.
When the morning fog is new
I’ll whisper again,
I am like you.
