for Marci
Listening to
you listen
to music is a
slow
unwinding, a
deep
letting go, a
blue
knowing, deep
and growing
underground.
There is soil
here.
Years of
experience
broken down by
time
memories layered
up, thick
black and
real,
two trees
sending
signals
underground.
Vibes. Sounds cliché.
Sleek silver
bullet train.
The way you
move
through me.
If there was
an empty
parking lot in
a horribly large and unkind
city, and I
found myself
staring down
at moonlight
reflected in dreams
busted on the
pavement
like so many
vodka bottles,
the razor wire
coiled along
the chain
link fence
calling
my name
like long ago
before you
came
into my life
wonderful
I hope
by some
unlikely
coincidence
a car would
pass
playing
Paulo Nutini
letting go,
that primal
yearning
unwinding so
real
and rooted
that I’d
find my way
home to you
the only place
I’ve ever
fully
belonged.
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