Poem for the First Week of January
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You wanted a poem, so I’ll write you one,
standing alone on a half-dim road,
the smell of litter and lilac on the curb.
I was thinking of when
I wanted to look at the constellations–
you didn’t, but you made it a point to
look up anyway, your back a reluctant comma
the muscles knotted in your spine.
I’ll write you any kind of poem you want.
Rolled in honey and almonds and
brushed with coconut and violins, or
gold-flecked and glittering, or
dotted with semicolons like a rattling
box of blackened silverware. I’ll write you
the kind of poem you take with you
in an icebox on a sailing trip, to hold
against your cheek right when you get to the center
point of the harbor, the sun sharp, a razorblade horizon,
the water dripping on your chin, your cool palms.