Anticipation

Coming home after work
I anticipate you for 12 miles,
twenty-eight traffic lights.

The miracle of love
is that of
everyday things,

of breathing things
like open windows
and turned pages,

of things that move
with the wind and change
at the pace of clouds.

The day before I discover I wasted a wish

Coming from somewhere
between desperation and rage
a man with a gun
jumped in front of me this week,
he wanted my cellphone.
I couldn't hear him at first,
I was only halfway through a song
that says everything I would
tell you in my vows.
Had I gotten hurt,
you would have been
the last dream of my heart,
the last wish of my soul.

Jöjjön

Come on a Sunday

to challenge the house noises

and hide me in your chest,

let's read each other's eyes, 

let's waltz in our private silence.

Calm down the death of roads

that can only lead to 

burning desires,

spell togetherness in 

imaginary languages.

Prepare me for uncertainty,

for the prevalence

of the ephemeral,

for letting go of

the memories we are making,

of the taste of existing around you
that will linger in my mouth

if we ever part.

Treasures

Growing up I had a
jewelry box where
I kept a collection of
stones instead of pearls.
I can only begin to explain
why I save your sounds.

Constraints

Your discomfort with my words
imposes me a pattern:

I must not speak of love
I must not say your name
I must not tell my wishes
all in the same poem.

This has to be the
most hurtful of constraints.

(about constrained writing)