You weave paint into a picture

honed finely in my camera’s lens.

“You can close your eyes,

but there is no illusion.”

If I follow, and you turn


to follow me,

where are we going?

Two beings walking

toward each other;

and what of beside?

Brother, sister, friend–

more human than humanity

touching as we know how

best to touch.

The softest sand still

etches memory’s friction

in palm and wrist

every time we rub our hands

t o g e t h e r .

I shan’t beg to be


in intangible eternity.

Because of the tomorrow

bristled in yucca leaves.

Winter suns don’t burn

its love in the spring.

For all change graces


with the luxury

of gradually.

Once you have lifted

the pockets of my jeans,

you’ll come across

not the coin of fortune,

not the promise of sign,

but what is worth more

falters in this rhyme.


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