My future hummingbird, my lima bean,
my other heart within,
my Good Night Moon,
my tethered kite, my too soon daughter
of larger seas, awe awaits
us like a dogeared book.
I have found God in all the wrong people,
a man with music in his teeth
and wind in his eyes,
a blue friend clicking
like an upturned beetle
on a slick bathroom floor,
in a suitcase full of hair dye
and love poems to the road
packed for trips to somewhere, anywhere else,
before looking in the mirror of a rehab’s bathroom.
Love any way. Ride
the truck that drives us
down back roads, thick
with kudzu, sparked
by sunflowers and tiger lilies, stretched like forever
below the mare's tails of trailing cirrus clouds.
There are spaces between my words
which can only be sung by you.