232. Chronological

I.
You've done this before.
Taken airplanes as your religion,
held your baptism at one thousand feet.
Cleansed anew for each city.
It is not strictly animal; you fall in love
often and well.

II.
It is painful to navigate
through new people.
The surprise at the ache
when they do not touch you
goodbye.

III.
I want to erupt into shivers, collapse
in joy, be pulled back to earth
at the sound of a voice
that knows my spine and instincts
as well as any flight path.

IV.
The syllables of
brav-er-y
are familiar to our mouths
yet what we think about the most
is how we are going
to leave.

231. Japan

Every body I've ever been with
has been more a mirror
than a lover. In my day dreams
I am doused in white and transform
into storm. In my night dreams,
bravery is carved
into my palms a thousand times
and my blood is the color of winters
that I have no interest
in being anymore.

230. For A.

I've broken my legs again.
I haven't been making it home.
I've decided to let the heart
go back to Virginia. Part of it,
anyway, the one that never stopped
tip-toeing into the dreams
of monsters and knives and
mothers. I hear her voice
for the first time in four years.
There is no parachute
for that.