Fitting all in Focus
I hold my own hand when I use crosswalks
with one palm haunted by the other.
They only untangle to frame the musty view of the park
grabbing the circuit-bent skyscrapers
with both sets of indexes and thumbs.
Now, the part where the buzzing in my pocket turns into a
snapshot that I send in return.
I’ll pinch my fingers around a blooming silver moon
and throw it 1500 miles east.
I wait for the buzzing
to continue in 5 business days.
This isn’t a Georgia O’Keefe dream
a bitter mix of oils and New Mexico
this is what I do on my lonesome with a fridge magnet and a penny
between my pads.
When my wait is over I will be greeted by the hands of someone else
wanting to take the leaves of that blue spring
and return them west
for me to interlock my fists around.