Nothing but the word “yes”
for the rest of the day. A dog-eared page
in a book we no longer own.
The urge to inscribe sugar
forever into tongue. Licking
a metaphorical heart. The wands
that beat cream—paddle boating
in the thickest pond. We sit
and convince the sun to melt.
Sighing for three hours straight.
There has never been
an end in sight.
We take handfuls of biology
and toss them at neighbor’s windows.
I don’t have flippers but maybe
we can borrow my brother’s.
My snorkel is ready.
I need to ask the whales
how they celebrate eternity.
Where a spoon both is and isn’t enough.
Feeding you the church bells.
Using a viola as a nest.
Do you remember when we were birds?
How flight came as easy
as licking our lips?



Robin Gow