...not because the ice is dripping from my roof, or the sky has opened up its pupils blue.
It's because of the crushes, the rushes,
the instant tripping over my puppy tail.
The woman at CVS waiting to check out,
her mocha skin and long fingers.
The way she turned and smiled,
the way she called the pharmacist by name.
The woman at Stone Oven, too young,
way too young, and yet old somehow,
like a Mill Valley redwood,
like a piece of blue glass not yet thrown upon the shore.
The man in black, the weight of responsibility
on his thin runner's shoulders.
The unexpected stubble,
the wringing of his careful hands.
The woman I have known forever,
her hair crisp against her scalp,
the way it makes me want to reach out
and rub the back of her head.
The woman I last rested with,
thinking of her thin waist,
the way my legs looped so easily in hers,
the way we looked up under a star soup sky.
The woman so far away
who must know in some way,
that I have always loved the way her words
ting against the true bell.
The tall man fumbling for his keys,
the old woman pushing flowers in her cart,
the man who smiled before opening the door.
Everyday, someone new falls
into the lap of my heart
and that must mean something,
doesn't it? The racing,
the needing, the wanting?
After so many months of staring
at the cement path one step ahead of me,
it is good to lift my head
and see -- simply see --
how many people there are,
as I circling the notion of love.
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