LXXXVIII.

these are unpolished thoughts for the journal i left at my parents' house
scratched ink on pages now floats into the void
as i wander from museum to museum
and wonder if anyone here lives what they would call a "slow life"
as i gaze unaided at these accidental stares into space
that they would never dare describe as "melancholy"
i wonder if they're thinking the same of me
as i wonder what song to listen to
because i become the songs i listen to
as i tell you that your willow tree covering me
covering me, sitting indian style by the fountain
is more artistic than any of their sculptures

my mind drifts
how to talk to you
i'm doing the best i can, and it means something to you
a space odyssey
the same heart that populates these cafe tables
i could get dreadlocks

i drift
and thank you for padre island
and thank you for guatemala
and thank you for my tired-eyed car
and thank you for how well i know these streets
and thank you for the jeep
and thank you for playlists i don't know what to do with
and thank you for apartment windows open wide
and thank you for dancing at a sunset school
and thank you for blue jay
and thank you for the conversation
and thank you for apartment doors open wide
and thank you for love & war
and thank you for european juxtaposition
and thank you for my bike
and thank you for dawn rising over albuquerque
and thank you for sleeping on sofas
and thank you for running wild for a weekend
and thank you that we've spun into deep space
and thank you that you're real
and thank you for drives home to a sister
and thank you for apartment hearts open wide
and thank you for this study in adaptation

(i put my faith in geography)
(to hold you in my memory)