Cashew Nuts and Peridot Water

Condensation In Tarpon Springs

As I listened to Rick Braun on the radio,
water below me, on the Sunshine Bridge,
I gazed to see the glow
of her fine face.
She could drive!
Really drive.
When petal-soft rain hits you,
the measure of it’s beat
will hold life’s anchor.
Yet,
in a lightning storm
so powerful that it shakes the sky
and wracks the frightened brain,
rain comes down with bullets.
Love’s blues mellow the
cruises, ever still longer.

Without you:
I imagine the distance of our eyes’
rainbow,
the section of an apple
the seeds grated into Eden’s Universe,
but yet, no.
We still do not see enough of each other.

I have asked that you be witness to the ground,
sending me old black shoes,
for helping me has always been your part
of my world.
He doesn’t ask enough about you,
maybe it’s better that way.

So then,
if a good race of human kindness
overflows at the brink of a Nativity dream,
then we will meet again.
Another day.
Another dim day into full art.

It was the afternoon that the sun was shining through,
that there was a condensation in my diamond-studded watch.
It held droplets of holy water and stopped cold dead.
I discovered then that it was my compass.
A little like this poem.
The beautiful hours there in the long shadows amidst the
lounge chairs, summoned the past.
The watch, toggled into place, ticked some months later.

Not a miracle . . .
but a hair’s length away from promising him more.