Cartography of Water
/Sky like a hangover.
Storms roll through around 3 a.m. and I am aware of them. From a dream I wake to thunder and turn to towards you to let you know I'm here and it's okay. The great and the wise tell me that is a fantasy and to let it go. Can putting love like that into the cosmos be a bad thing? These and other wrestling matches just before birdsong.
Lex crawls into bed at 5 a.m. saying that her back hurts. Apparently the free bed I found her comes at a price she can't pay. She said she didn't say goodbye to me last night, knowing I’d be gone before she wakes. They grow older and mature and yet. Our heart swelling.
A small braid over my right ear. Delicate hoop earrings. A few curls for the “wavy beach” effect. I pack in the dark unable to tell exactly which shirt or what color underwear goes into the bag. Coffee to go.
One thinks on the cartography of water: rain rushing across the windshield; the pond covered in a sheen of pollen; the big lake unfazed by the direction of my car towards or away from it. Water in me is how my garden grows and it is how I know what to give. How far you have brought me out of the desert.