What I know so far . . .

(this is a verse I wrote September 16, 2007 - it is what I knew then and I was clearing out some files on my laptop and rediscovered it.

This is what I know so far . . .


You have the smile of a 15 year old;
the veins on your forearms are the rivers of my dreams,
my favorite topography.
Your voice is a deep rumble as if a league of seas
surrounds us.
Your name is a single syllable, opening softly and
ending like the step off a cliff.
When you talk you words climb on one another, sentences
like a surfers wave approaching the shore.

This is what I know so far:
With you, I listen harder, tune the frequency
for the bass line.
I’ve taken to reading the international news
again, the second paragraph too.
When I saw the pencil on the floor of your car,
as we cruised lost in the streets of
the eastern shore,
my shoulders relaxed and I smiled.
The pound of your heart hooves a path
across my back as I lean against you, and
we listen to the Maynard’s trumpet.

I don’t know if you sleep through the night,
if you spoon or if you hug the edge of the bed
or if you take the lion’s share and dislike touch.
I don’t know if money is more important than vision;
If success is measured in 410k and trusts or in a life lived
without the need of medication or alcohol.
I don’t know if I can count on you to tell me the truth
or to lift me off the railroad tracks or to help me
when I ask.
I don’t know.

Here is what you might want to know
about me:
The light delicate touch transforms just as much as the anvil.