You Knew It

 

was only a small enough matter

of time before you started to

show up as new words like soft pink clues dropped inside

tiny fingernail teacups to find their   

innermost meaning, then wishes, floating up near the top like lots of chocolate sprinkles.  

You were already prancing, wild,  practically shoeless--

parading naked behind their velvet panes like

giant bits of windswept hair full

 

of rain, sparkling with leaves. You brought the smells

of drenched flowers with you. If I

should open the window anywhere

in my world it's you I become    

instantly aware of on the breeze. That's

why I'm hiding out at my writing

desk pretending to be deeply

thinking about all the rumbling, tumbling

 

trouble in the rough and gruff world we live in, but really

I'm hoping to see a shadow

on the wall that reminds me of

that soft slope your shoulder sometimes makes. I'll    

put all the rest of the bent back pieces

together from over here. But it won't

be you anymore than this poem

will be me. I need your hand

 

to hold in my hands. I want your face

to go mute under the blinking lights to a 

more natural lighting on your one and 

only perfect skin. Your voice to belong     

in my ear like a baby in

its mother's arms. Perhaps that won't

happen tonight. Or on any other night very

soon. You can't redeem these charges

 

for a more open willing heart 

to suspend its own falling down star

for a more perfect blue filled sky cure-all. But that's

a blank card at best, inserted into

the deck on the off chance that you

might be willing to accept a

small miracle as repayment for

your simply being the best reason.