these words need to flow east of my atlantic
to where it ends, & then further still.
this is no pond to skip stones over
casually, theoretically, virtually
& although i just broke 3 rules
of modern poetry,
physics & geography
will not fade or consent to crumble
when i ignore them.
we bend & flow
to match the curve of the world
between us in this yearning,
but these are hard things
pulled from lightning & clay;
the truth inside stones
echoed in bone & spirit.
in the seconds i hear you
intimate across continental plates & ocean
lives separated by hours
make time a light thing,
an origami bird we fold & fold again
until it flies easily between us,
though the stars we trade whispers beneath
are my sun & your constellations.
where do cassava & sunflowers,
corn and wheat, savanna
& wooded valleys grow together,
though even the stones under our feet
might will it, they hold us separate
in their very holding together