The great lone Spanish words, like a Castilian ship
come into full view when the air is still.
Words in their casual proximity
embody life when you are fixing the coffee,
raking the leaves, picking your nose
and they laugh and you say “te amo.”
“Te amo.”
sometimes a statement of fact
to retain some cherished, nearly-forgotten impression.
No different than clearing the driveway
or shaping your eyebrow—it is maintenance.
And yet it vaguely feels O.K., maybe even great
to let the words slip out of your mouth between red
stained kisses, oh that’s the feeling—that’s why.
The lights have gone out but the words are still awake,
left behind in an early morning dream,
waiting to be given shape
by someone lucky enough to be told, “te amo.”
