April 1 poem

Summer


Today is like summer and I
see you. I see
you in a room
full of poetry,
a lamp behind you like
a halo, your face framed
with light the color of muscle.
My heart murmurs while
yours beats

full of bleach.

I think about the poets
at the reading, how they stood
away from the microphone.
Their voices were enough
to hold us like
the cupped hands of God
hold people, open and aching,
how my hands hold
your hair or dandelions,
my fists full of
wishes,their voices
full of poetry that echoes
off the walls,
off my bones, their chins,
eyebrows,
expectations
raised like their
voices.

but their hands
are shaking.