Friday, January 29, 2010

in the eye

my heart is nestled

in the eye of this hurricane.

(it feels like outer space.

no sound, no gravity, no traffic, no texts.

a vacuum from disaster.)

steady beats and clarity glow

against a messy horizon you sketched

with your confused pen.

yellow tape, orange cones frame a home.

it was ours, wasn’t it?

you know my love is a patient bug.

(caterpillars move slow

before becoming butterflies.)

we made music in the living room,

the kitchen,

the bed.

even the lawn got landscaped.

did you really give up on our cup of coffee?

are you just out for tea with a good friend?

when you return

(because you really should)

you can find me in the tool shed.

where is the hammer?

where are the nails?

where are my glasses, dear?

where are the pieces that make sense?

a tool belt hangs on my waist

just below my calm heart.