I am too much me, tonight
elbows akimbo-
witchy shadows cast in the fading light
Theres a tug in the wind,
a pull in the air
I could fly apart so easily
atoms lost in a swirl upwards
like spark from flame.
I saw the moon, once,
from an angle that made it fill the sky.
If I could, I would go back.
Somewhere on a street
with lowhanging branches and gumball trees
is a man, writing.
My name is in a book,
written a thousand times.
the Superbowl again,he said,
correcting himself absently in the next
sentence, not understanding my grin,
not realizing that these moments,
rife with unintentioned humor,
bubbling with half ignored desire
are when it makes sense-
that it is word as much as deed
speech as much as need
that brought me here and
he goes on a rant about this game
I have no want to understand,
no need to know.
He mistakes my interest in him
for interest in his subject,
but I have no want of games;
what attracts me is the passion and how
the life just jumps from him,
how much intensity he shows.