to light you will return

Seattle, Washington

veins

cloud veins split with a hot glass crack

rain peppers the trees cold

the energy splits and floats down to where we stand

my hand holding an umbrella stem

your hand wrapped around mine

effervescence flows from skin to blood to heart 

my foot puddle dodges 

presses a leaf into cement

blood orange paper

veins that once held life 

veins with pen marking connections

canals carrying blood to your heart to your skin to my skin

you glow like the city’s reflection on the sound

waves of your voice transfer life 

with sparkling invisibility

you

are the most precious and beautiful thing in my life. 

shoes

the problem

you said, 

is our shoes:

separation from the earth

i painted my room red

and never wanted to leave

newspapers bled out of walls

a memory hollowed 

out my insides

something persisted 

to propel me 

out of the joy of sorrow

and here we are

with our shoes

(yours can barely carry its name)

i want to melt into you

walks like these

"let's pull over if you don't mind," my friend said. 

i had already passed the turn-in, so i slammed the truck into reverse and rolled into the empty parking lot. the sun had set, or, perhaps more accurately, the world had turned its face from the sun. remnants of its meager attempts to outshine the rain faded behind the clouds. the clouds. the clouds looked unearthly: deep purple layered over grey. they filled the entire sky. i stared for a moment, unable to peel my eyes away. the atmosphere looked colder than it really was. i shivered a little, and my friend offered me his jacket. 

"i'll be fine once we start walking," i told him. 

we wandered into a huge metal-roofed structure with no walls but filled with dead machinery. old oil rigging equipment sprouted from the concrete floor. 

"is someone playing music in there? cuz that would be fucking cool," he smiled. 

eerie sounds echoed off the lifeless metal. a violin maybe. laughter twisted by the cold and machines reached our ears. 

"this place gets shady at night," he said without looking at me. 

"oh great. great idea to come here," i muttered.

we peeked over a ledge where the music seemed to be climbing from. underneath us, sitting at a table was a group of homeless people bundled up in blankets, drinking, and listening to jazz music from a radio. we moved out towards the dimming light.

he pointed out pieces welded together that had no business being welded together. "art," was his explanation.  

"let's go to the compass at the top of the hill," he pointed.

a path twisted up the hill. it looked like a slippery snake or a frozen river. a couple was throwing a frisbee for a black dog who jumped off the ground for the catches. besides the hill in front of us and the trees to our left, the park was open. the cold and rain had cleared almost everyone out. 

my friend squished straight up the grass while i walked up the slick path trying not to slip. 

"i'm an "a" to "b-er," he explained. turning and walking back down to the path he asked, "do you think if i sat here all day i could sell people fortunes?"

"definitely. you always seemed like the miss cleo type," i smiled. 

"i would sit them down and look at their palm for awhile and say 'hmmmm,'" he rubbed his hand on his chin.

"standard."

"then i'd tell them 'life sucks, and then you die.'"

"life does not suck," i said shoving his shoulder.

"it does right now. for me at least," he said glumly.

"i know," i replied, "it will get better though. you have to know sadness to know happiness."

"i guess."

we reached the top: a huge compass was planted, taking up the entire platform of the hill. pieces of shells and purple glass were inlaid, and golden hands pointed north, south, east, and west. i was interested in south: choppy water expanded and contracted as boats maneuvered their way to dock. the city glowed at the water's edge, climbing towards the sky. cold, rain-washed air blew around us. puddles reflected the intense clouds back at themselves. the world as it was right now was beautiful. 

"this is why i moved to here," he said, "for pointless walks like these."