Fare

The words evade me, lately. Spring simmers, lets the little blossoms make their way out of the soil and into my beaming heart, fills the river promenade with all manner of revelers, everything is easier and I begin to recognize my face in the mirror. But left behind in the dusty tar of February, it seems, lies all the poetry that ran in my blood while the days were dark, lie scattered the words that gathered and built like plaque in my arteries, stiffening my every move except the one that put ink on blank pages, one after another, after another.

I forget to look for magic on the street corner, I forget to wink at the Universe to see if it winks back, somehow Lawrence Ferlinghetti lives to be a hundred and it's a miracle they forgot to cancel, what a beautiful reminder. We speak of a restaurant we both know and I remember suddenly how my heart took a beating there once that turned into cracks in its armor, that turned into earthquakes and landslides in its unmovable strength, you know it's been so long, there's so much goddamned water under this bridge we could all just as well have drowned but here we are, blinking on the shore and trying to figure out why our clothes are sopping. He says let's go to Mexico instead, and you search for flights like you had never forgotten how to run to begin with.

A new year has begun underneath your feet. You refresh the live feed for cherry blooms in Brooklyn. Wait patiently for new words to grow.