cable-held beanstalks sprouting from granite roots
pods of people inside thrust upward
where people don't belong
but there's a room up there, you see, at the top
it's a quiet place
and there's a bowl of peanuts and a wet bar
filled with ginger ale and (good) black coffee
a framed picture of us hangs across a refrigerator
and your heart is so big you can see it through your dress
pounding through cotton like a tapping toe
finding a rhythm in itself it wasn't aware of
that it didn't know it could play
there's a song in your heart, darlin'.
its lilt drifts between drops and enters ears
with the same abandon with which you entered this room:
the grace of a storm and the scorch marks left by lightning
charred where it's struck
but the flashes of brilliances stain your eyes
and they put everything else within them
you can't see without them
and you wouldn't care to, anyway.
I sit by the door and sip red wine
peering around corners and hearing words in my head
words like "baby" and "goddamn, you're beautiful."
crickets chirp in a syncopated second-line from deep in the heart of zydeco country
clack/click clack/click click click clack clack/click clack clack
and there's that tapping toe again
making its way up and down
like the elevator I've watched you ascend in from above
and you found me, didn't you.
at the top.
I was there.
and you joined me.
and you wore big glasses and a dress like grapefruit juice.
the second you walked into the room
I thought "everything is going to be okay."
I hope all of your work is going well.
I hope you can still see me
because I'm learning to fly.