A bright effacement of morning for you: I have a short new poem today in Tenderness Lit on blooming love & open mouths & the limitless generosity of springtime! I always find it so fascinating that I write the most love poems when not in a relationship, & this piece was no different. I don’t know if I could tell you why precisely that is, but perhaps it’s something to do with the separation in my own mind between writing & living: that one must always come before the other, magnifying the second’s brilliant voiceless arrival.
Though it’s closer now to summer than springtime, I hope you find an element of truth in this piece regardless! Currently I am in Los Angeles, where the sun shines long & the desert wind sends dry flat panes of dust up my back, & I miss this floral flickering more than I could say. Perhaps it might take you too back to a more daffodil-graced time, awakened true & echoing as light. xx
Lovesong to Vernal Equinox, Standard Time
Trillions of beautiful things but just one you.
& isn’t that miraculous, the earth giving up
its glory in springtime. Choral & dimpled.
The longest night is passed, meaning will
come again sooner than any of us want to
admit. Every last bud smells like what we’ve
lost. I love you right now & this does not
mean I won’t ever love anything else, it
means I can’t help but love everything else.
The walls—nonexistent, windy—casting
their images of light back into my eyes.
Tender as the world that wakes up again,
despite. To pass through a season instead
of scrubbing yourself with it is a little fate,
a little luxury. I am so windchime, I am so
porch swing, I am so in love with spring
I want to wear it on my wrist like perfume.
The deepest ache playing on repeat: there
is nothing new here, except for everything.
The sun sways atop us, dwelling in her
own newness, & for a single day in March
we are unafraid to be man-made, unafraid
of the memory of hurricanes, unafraid
to kiss out loud.