Canoes tilt slightly beneath garbanzo bean clouds.
We try to hear the crickets, but the silence is too
loud. Pink sky over aquamarine
sea, and I don’t look at you. Astute.
Relaxation. You can be my eyes. Don’t
share aloud; only feel by my side,
that I’d feel you with me- you and I experiencing,
what I feel and what I don’t, and when
the firewood has met its match, laugh-
The flames’ crackle started it, and the crickets join.
Tilt your head like you think it’s a wonder
I’m alive. My smile is too happy to be
a grin anymore. You see the smallness of it
as an open door, and your tongue knows my teeth
like my face knows your hands- Pale
garbanzo beans, pink sky. Don’t share aloud.
Astute relaxation. Firewood. Match.