Through Vagrant Ways

 Through Vagrant Ways 

I renegade 

Awake, alone, afraid

Tugging at the heart string 

Tied to which is 

The Balloon that is the moon 

Alone I wander without cause 

In the crisscross of a child’s scribbling serenade. 

The moon is just a mark on your nail 

With which you trace my veins 

This atlas on my skin

Marking the map of all the places where we’ve been

Tracing the half-deserted streets

Lined with love-song singing trees.

As we sway 

From one half drunk dream to the next 

In and out of oyster shell hotels 

That make just enough room for two 

To the drowning edges of the beach

That resisted climate change just for you and me

You trace your fingers across

All my dreams and yours 

And those we did not dare to dream

Leaving a map as letters calipgraphed 

In a language 

God did not teach Adam to speak.

“What does this mean?” you ask.

I smile and trace your veins

Backwards

To the turning where 

That which could have been A

Parts from that which is

To reveal

That that which separates the two is

The brushwork of a prayer

That you dared to pray 

A prayer to a Poet’s God

An Artist’s God

A cartographer who drew

In the shape of your prayer 

The map of all the places where we’ve been 

And let that prayer flow through your veins and mine.