I wish you were here.
I'd do a hundred somersaults
a thousand cartwheels!
I'd make really cold iced tea.
I'd write a sestina. Ten!
What can I do?
I'm turning into pale blue jelly,
transparent and plinky like a piano,
shaking under the moon.
Where are you, with your
imminent brilliance,
your eyes that stop butterflies in their tracks,
the koans of your fingertips?

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