|Red chairs at the workshop lounge, Pompidou Center, Paris, May 2014|
Dear Helena, wherever you may be,
Let me unfurl you like dawn on my sheets,
When dreams blur into wakefulness.
You whispered, completing finger traces on my skin.
I winced, expecting to wear your wicked riddles on my arm.
But you keep them, I recall, pocketed like lifesavers.
Your puzzles are sugar and tart loops
I happily tie like bells on our apartment door.
They chime like rainbows whenever you arrive.
You said, one afternoon, how that blue bench
Behind Faura Hall could have
Strayed out of Aslan's songs.
I replied, that afternoon, how that heavy bench
Tucked under the Acacia couldn't have
Crooned quietly into the margins of our sacred space.
Lately, it's been drizzling again.
Our blue Faura bench, I imagine drunk with rain,
Is shivering, orphaned of us and our metaphors.
Don't take too long. While your secrets
Keep me company like restless pets,
They're all I have, and, that glum bench.
Hurry back soon. I've just pocketed one under my tongue.
One vexing watermelon loop. Shhh!
I'll keep it snug, and, you'll have to wait until you get home.