by a few moons

i am certain you and i are connected by a few moons:

one opens the freezer and sees chaos, the other just sees food;

one folds clothes for categorization, the other just shoves them in the drawer.

a million examples or how the rules of attraction work in the most subtle ways,

for me, that is where love is, intrinsically.

in the space between me and you, and how

knowing we will always be apart,

subdivided by the atoms and the quarks,

just makes it easier to bring you closer.

some days you feel small, so small,

i can engulf you between my arms;

some other days i feel like life is too much to bare 

and there's a space in your chest made for me.

i think there is the reason why i am still striving for meaning,

to understand how two people who were once different

have suddenly become part of the same.

i can't understand why of all the things you could have become

you decided to be tender, loving,

the missing part of me.

the nature of the universe

i am convinced that there is always something in this world

that resembles everything else in the universe.

even if we haven't discovered it yet,

the collision of stars and the spacetime force of black holes

i am sure i can find something like that in a pond

or maybe in my backyard.

anything

if I could wish to write about anything,
it'd go away almost immediately -
there's not much I can do to keep this feeling close,
close enough to be grasped.
it'll live with me forever,
long enough for me to let it in,
but maybe never
understand it.

i said your name in a dream

I said your name in a dream,

in a whisper, 

as I was looking for you in my computer.

I was trying to find out if you were dead or alive.

I said it and regretted it,

because like a spell, you appeared:

you showed up wearing a hat, unannounced,

smiling.

in my dreams you don't hate me,

you keep me dear,

you keep me close,

you know who I am.

I wish I kept the email you wrote,

that said

it had been an honor to know me,

but I guess my computer

doesn't dream that far back into time.

the beginning of summer

a woman reads

a poem sitting on a bench

at the porch

of the house she bought

with her husband,

who plays the sax inside

while her six year old dog

howls with him

singing

awooo awooo

and she doesn't frown,

only tilts her head to the side

to listen closely to the cicadas

proclaiming the beginning of summer;

her eyes try to adjust to the lack of light

now in the twilight

her daughter opens the front door and

turns on the light for her,

so she smiles,

brushes a fly off her lap

and then turns the page.

the town smells like jasmines

and wet grass,

something so comforting

she wonders

if anyone would ever think

of writing a book about it.

a secret third thing

how does death feel to those
who've never had time to come terms
with their own mortality?

is it sweeter?
do they think it's god's work?
is somebody coming to get them, can they see them?
do they know a secret we ignore,
like a recipe,
or they just accept it when it comes?

funny feeling

i so desperately struggle to keep my mind at ease
that i forget about the joy of misunderstanding.
taking for granted what is not mine, and
what i can't take with me,
as if there's an answer within this realm
that would make me understand.
uncomfortable spaces between the locked thoughts,
where the look out the window
is a grim, dark reality,
enlightened only by rays of sunlight
of occasionally well-intended people
who live outside of me.
i thought i always knew the answer,
then i decided i didn't anymore and tried to find it again.
within my papers, in my head,
around me, in the people i love.
maybe the answer has been lost for a reason,
and i might need to stay with that funny feeling
for a little longer,
until it figures me out,
or the other way around.