of the mind, I choose to vacation in the past.
The only time to meet again
the people I met long ago --
somehow, the dream-mind remembers.
There, the thin-legged boy from a long day
at a waterpark in Puerto Rico.
And there, the once-best friend
who collected ticket stubs
and pressed them into books to return to.
Once or twice, a cameo
by the man with the smoky breath who liked
kissing on the dorm couch with all the lights on.
Often, a young version of myself -- wild curly hair and baby teeth,
a lust for understanding every living thing -- the tall black
birds lurking on the roof, the ladybugs crowding
in the corners of window frames.
Sometimes, my mind takes me to you
at 20, unaware and at ease, our love humming in the air.
At night, I remember you like this: a character to fall
in love with over and over again, one I haven’t
already left behind.