Solid Ground
i'll love you until there's no till, until the farmers at their plows stop their churning, stop carving into the clumped dirt, until the blue sky is released and caught back in its bell jar seventeen times. when god catches his sunday in that jar, the fabric snags as it slips away, leaves little flower-shaped blue glimmering in the dark backdrop. i'll love you until the play ends, until after the actors take off their wigs from their aching heads and wipe the make-up off with kleenex that used to be used for crying, now used for removing themselves, for returning to themselves. until we return to ourselves, a second time, you: a busser in a small town cafe, me: an orca whale, the best of both worlds, a white smile with black arms. they say dark things love stronger. my arms love the strongest, they can carry us anywhere. i will love you until every droplet of that ocean water turns to salt, until children on the street laugh and say what the hell was that? when rain comes. when rain does not come. when our hands are filthy so we wash them with dirt from our backyards. dirt makes me feel like i belong somewhere, here on my faded jeans are the particles of home, home, home with a long m for how you make me feel when all the rest of this entire world feels black and empty. i think light is holy, but you are afraid to love me, to love light. you catch me, your first sight, catching clumps of blue sky in my grandmother's mason jars. like praying mantises they hold themselves, devour each other, lay eggs in the heads of lovers in the hopes that they will survive to next summer, to next light. only two to a jar, you whisper to me. only two because light loves its mirror but nothing more.