what a stupid thing to say

that our laughter might match patterns

shake the hands in the park and

see what falls from the trees. you

don’t have to clutch the paintbrush

to see the coloring of the trail behind us, the waves crashing

under the bridge, the silence under

the subway.

sway once more, the light is

catching you now. tiptoe a soft shoe dance across the floor. the beat will

be there when you find it, light reflecting off the moon, the beams breaking

through the paper shades.

I

am telling you to break my heart,

I

am not asking why.

there’s a story about how whales drown,

forgetting to come up for air. I don’t

know how it ends, I

am waiting on the punchline