09 Mar

Your head stays
in the clouds
most days,
but do not fret.
You are fine
to miss
the rush and run below,
the lens and clicks,
gas and fumes,
the Sí and No.
Near you, my feet feel,
and the earth shakes,
and my body pressed
near to your heart,
close to your green
crowns and vines,
fronds and leaves,
blades and stalk,
toil on soil and floor.
Your space
tends to my exhaustion,
catches my eye,
wets my touch,
shades and shields,
gives and takes,
with both friend and foe;
I, on guard,
size each step,
as your tears flow
hot fuel below.
Please. Show me the scars
on your face;
your red flair,
so that I may fancy
the night’s glow on
the lake low
before I must say goodbye,
and go.