April 20: to A

if life was a little less hard
you and i would not be
continents apart.

we would wake at dawn
in a forest smelling of sun

our legs would always be
smeared with paint

the distance between our arms
would be where blossoms grow.

i have collected lovers like beads
for a necklace i would never wear;
but no shoulders weaved with muscle
could hold the weight of my sadness
like your oceanic curls of hair.

i say the word often, to many
different people, but i remember
what it means sometimes only after
a crackling phone call with you.
i can taste your particular silence.
hold onto your laugh for a lifetime.

here's a poem to add to our little pile,
another leaf of longing. we will row
a little rowboat across oceans that
have thawed, and we will wear
dried palash flowers in our hair.
we have two long journeys ahead,
we might meet only in our dreams.
i will celebrate that even as i weep.