A poem

I’m Writing This after the Weekend of April 7, And You Know Why


There is a newness now,

A light, kaleidoscopic haze around ordinary existence;

The melody of the Blind Pilot song now that I’ve heard you sing it in the shower,

The sight of palm trees near the beach now that I’ve seen them from your passenger side window,

The taste of Starbucks coffee now that I’ve sipped it from your unmade morning bed.

Even the sound of Link rolling across Hyrule Field (I’ve heard it for years) is new again,

Beautiful and better, somehow, because your hands are on the controller.


Will we really make a mess of it?


This newness, this learning. This could-be love.



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