January.

tell me again how the note in your pocket became a freight train
and tied an earthquake to your feet. 
how it was too early for talking, and everyone sitting like statues, made you forget 
the boxcar so you could fall
asleep in dream garden.
how you imagined each finger as a thumb 
and everything pointed up, and promised to carry the load.
how your lips parted in prayer when you realized,
you were your own Hail Mary.
.
sweet darlin’, how we met was surely a mistake. 
but it’s not like a shoe string that needs to be tied, it’s more like 
the wind catching clips on the clothesline. 
more like the street lamp burning shadows in the van, and the mornings were cold, and every time I looked at you, you wide eyed me.
.
watch the pink fog rubbing its cheek against the maple’s grain.
that means the mountains are blushing.
that means we are too.
.
tell me how nothing is forever and love can’t be inked.
count the spots in my left eye. 
call me Island. 
then tell me the water is just 
fine.