My life’s men
Have become like
A series of
Postcards of places
Past filed in
A box called
My heart hidden
In the basement
Of my mind
Sought only when
I’m no longer
Being an explorer
I open it
And look at
Them remembering Curitiba
Or Andes or
Denver or Paris
They each bring
With them memories
Of the mountains
Of shoulders the
Slopes of throats
The bellied pastures
And eyed lakes
Men that have
Been long ago
Like a ghostly
Ship far out
To sea you
Appeared to me
Approaching and finally
Mooring just off
My coast your
Hands moved towards
Me like a jetty
Filled with conquistadors
As you lowered
Your main sail
And laid it
On the floor
Next to bed
Setting anchor you
Decided to stay
And explore me
Your new world
The hardest thing
Is being attractive
You’re seen for
What you are
To someone else
But it’s in
These words that
I sing read
These and know
Who I am
With blind eyes
And like a
Tap tap tap
On my shoulder
A message came
Hey there
And so it
Started this beginning
Of a familiar
Path leading me
To the door
Of your heart
And while perusing
The bookstore of
My life I
Happened upon an
All-too familiar story
Of sweetness newly
Discovered in a
Landscape of bleakness
Of quenching rains
Of kindness after
Parching droughted meanness
Of long-awaited holiday
Gatherings after months
Of dark loneliness
It’s a story
Where a crooked
Smile sets to
Light a string
Of otherwise dim
Bulbs you reminded
Me of this
And it’s you
That has become
Yet once again
My favorite story
