it’s enough
beautiful
to see you smile
softer than magnets repel
stinking feet, hematite and gold
to see / your eyes
again, again
―the blue train; dirty brown―
see the sun rise
from a filthy tunnel
―love desired / but hardly held―

and I, older in red footy-pajamas
man-child in a monkey-suit
ill favored and lost underground
to poetry and unabashed reckless havoc,
“I will not bite the stereo.” playing
through my mind, skip skip
“bite bite bite”
until the dogs come home,
pigs supply the idea
of cross-Atlantic intervention,
and the marvelous hostels
of which I’ll never reach
beg their doors with silicone
and burn the matches from their books.

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