Betcha didn't know I write poetry... :D

Outside

Sit at my feet, me in the chair
I'll wrap the blanket around both of us
and we'll watch the moon an hour
my fingers through your hair
kisses upon your brow,
upside-down

Time is different outdoors
inside, time is made of calendar weeks
and wristwatch hours
outside, it's made of memories
Our first trip to Multnomah Falls
The day we were enveloped by fog on the beach
Our crisp autumn night in the meadow
When the frogs sang to us, as we walked to the moon

I love to do nothing with you
just holding you without moving,
a study in solidness
measuring the weight of your head in my hands
blur of constant motion translated
into mass

It's harder to do nothing indoors
there's an agenda sitting on every surface
a program waiting to be set in motion...

Inside, everything collapses into writing
the check-boxes and letters and hen-scratching
shrinking smaller and smaller
The room is a box made of lines
and they all converge in a corner
pointing to an increasingly
microscopic point

Outside, I set my course by the stars
we're taller
our heads scrape the sky,
we are giants
the moon is our only ceiling
bodies made of poetry, seasons,
and limitless
possibility


April 3, 2004