Everyday I see something that
more or less melts my soul, like golden
butter on Mom-mom’s skillet
made for those Sunday morning meals,
the kind that puts everyone back,
for another few hours, in their beds.
I can never keep my soul in my chest.
It spills out like baby drool,
cute and thoroughly holy.
There is no face that I won’t slobber on
there is no palm that I won’t glaze with it.
How can I help but grow wild and young,
in awe of the unbridgeable reality that is you and I
in our ginchy little house called Earth?
If I told you right now, with all conviction,
that the deep flirtatious infinity of space
was a wax sealed envelope
with an illegible insignia inked in gold,
and we are the magnificent flickers of glitter within
tucked under the fold by hands incomprehensible,
wouldn’t that be worth my perpetual grin?
My angel-headed heart, all too soluble in life’s soft light?
Look! See the un-rushed brushstrokes
of births and last breaths and, oh, there -
The rivulets of answered prayers foaming at the ocean’s mouth,
the irresistible stars and the sunbeams that deliver
our love letters piggyback through this void.