Sometimes I Write Poems

280 South

Somewhere between the city and home
there’s a stretch –
a curve –
that makes me fall in love.
Heart palpitating
euphoric
reckless
don’t-give-a-fuck-if-I-get-it-back

love.

Three thousand miles away
you’re falling in love too.
With a sharp edge,
A place that towers over you
and dares you
to one day overtake it.
A world that slows
only when I show up,
secondhand suitcase in tow,
mouthfuls of distractions,
bringing along with me
the languid pace
of my slowly curving
California landscapes.

Back among the hills
two hands on my wheel
I picture you among those giants
and pedestrians
of impossible perfection.
Together you get onto trains
the names and numbers of which
I cannot see.
You step on
and they take you
ever away from me.

Meanwhile I follow the swerve
and as the hills again shield
their glistening bay
I can breathe evenly
knowing that I am in love with this world
and belong to it completely
even if none of it belongs to me.