To Diane in Summer

Quiet darkness is soft.
We push through it effortlessly,
stopping to examine tulips
guarding the perimeter of a fountain.

I am full of your stories of birth.
My stomach, warm from soup,
makes me feel fertile.
I want to face you,
touch my palms to yours,
achieve symmetry,
mirror you for a small while.

Reflective pools ripple
at my touch
my breath, even.
I shove my warm hands
into my pockets
and walk with you

past bags of dirt
outside a five and dime.
I ask you why nobody steals dirt.

You have no answer for me.
You have no answer for me on anything
because there are many questions
that I haven’t asked.

Reflective pools ripple
at my touch.