Saturday, August 14, 2010

Behind the fruit salad a simple meaningful love

I'm translating directions
and you laugh
like they're all a jumbled unpaved road,
or you hear and can't understand, 
static sentences thrown together
from the seat of my car,
silent understanding
draped across that bay bridge
curving up into the sky
like a horseshoe buried in the sand,
and the sky is raspberry fire
breathing and burning and pop,
leaving the sweet smell of fruit and salty oxygen
heavy weaving behind your eyes,
sweet almond dark eyes,
bending the rail toward me
in the shallows with waves twisting over,
through the final verse of a late-afternoon song 
and a just empty bottle of nameless pink wine, 
we find our way in the sweet/sour dawn.

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