The full moon glows between two trees while a cow stands just below it at the pinnacle of the hill she’s on; I ponder my lack of stability, wandering eye that sees you and loses all logic. One thing is that the observations keep coming ahead of introspection. I want to figure it out, the secret of your mouth. On a cloudless day in February, when the sun is high and piercing my mind, I find myself wondering again to wherever you may be… even if I know it won’t lead to anything. I wish we could sing together again, harmonize through the key changes by chance, hug a little too long, glance a little more longingly, catch ourselves falling into ellipses, loves left unsaid, lies we tell to deny what’s in front of us, indefatigable as the ocean and its continual seafoam. I paint my eyes the next day in the hope that I’ll catch you somewhere; maybe at the market, maybe at the beach, the dive bar, the river, the pinnacle of the hill past Duncans Mills. Beneath two lichened redwoods with glowy needles, the orange moon grows dimmer, a keen sliver smirking at two fools, I know, your fingers on strings as your face gets closer to mine— close enough that you can see my eyes. I imagine the two evergreens we could be. I dare you to be a little wise. Lowing at the sharp peak with all the wind’s branches bowing, I take my aim where you would be; I walk in the darkness of escape, see the blooming camellia bushes with rosy petals, pollen-covered stamens like pagans rubbing together. One thing is that: regardless of presence or proximity, it’s not up to me what I am given. No apology. The cow stands over my shoulder, intruding. I reach for the closest book of poems my feeble, crooked fingers can wrap around. Find “Music” by Mary—bursts of activity, such languid and tender attempts, pulling me back toward the moon’s shrinking and tongues waving like musicians swaying and I long to see you make music for me.
Thanks for reading the eleventh installment of my poetry series. I hope this piece finds you where it found me. In the sensitivity of this season, I am in need of reassurance.