His hand is in mine,
His presence is next to me-
I could shake for excitement
but I'm driving.

Just to be
in the same place as him
is enough.

One more sleep,
and I'll see him.

One more laying down of heads,
and then he'll be in my sight.

Once more unto dreams,
and then my dream will be reality.

One more night,
and then I'll hug him until my bones creak.

That they love to dance with me
never ceases to amaze me
and warm my heart.

I think them so fantastic
and wonderful
it seems crazy.

But I remember how great of a smile
with which I have been gifted
and how dancing
improves everyone's soul,
and maybe after reflection
it's not so great a mystery

One week.

Seven more days,
and I'll see him.

I can wait that long.

I can hold my breath

and

my

words

until I see his face
and can hold his hand
and let all the words of affection
i've been holding in
just rush out in one avalanche of feeling
because yeah sure
of course
we've called and texted and everything
but there's nothing can compare
to seeing his face.

I want to run out the door
and never come back-
I am tired and this leeches at my soul
even as bright people
pour sunlight back in
as we chat and I help improve their days.

I'm trying desperately to see the forest
for all these trees,
to remember the point and the reasons,
but the money for later
is hard to think of
when the job now
sucks away joy.

to worn out
to chase what i love
so i'll crawl home
and sleep,
and maybe when i wake
i'll have good news.
maybe.

I can see the dawn.
This is a rare occasion,
for I am not frequently up this early
and when I stay up this late
I rarely do so where there are windows
to watch the sun rise.

But here I am,
resetting a sleep schedule and catching up
on poems
and reading
and composing CDs for friends-
I did a lot of late night MP3 purchasing.

I'm also smiling,
because I have plans to see people I care about,
and I got to hear their voices.

I wonder sometimes,
why the world is so large
and we have to be separated so greatly.

I'm cleaning out a room,
clearing away the old
to temporarily house new,

when I see an old box in my closet.

the handwriting on it
brings a fond smile-

the paper flowers inside
hit me like bricks
and I put the box back for another day.

I have to bury this friendship
a little at a time,
even after these past two years.

It's too darn hot
and I can get little relief
other than by forsaking
a good night's rest
and consigning myself
either to faintly sweat under a fan
or curl up on an old couch
in the sweetly cold basement-

I miss snow.

Old friends can keep you
up late. Together you two
see a new day dawn.