for Mackenzie,

the inward movement of heat
when your finger met the sunset
as you pointed out a lazy seagull dipping with the grace of a drunken sailor
fighting the wind

and you scratched at that speck of sky like a lotto card until you revealed stars
and then you inhaled deeply and your lungs filled up like a buoy
and you floated

i always liked that you were weightless

you, you just cut through waves like helium
and you, your lungs always expanding with the peace of a sleeping dove
and you, that night, just lay there crying when my mustache brushed your neck
in the attic on the coast of maine
you were wearing a seashell necklace, so your neck was far from naked
but rather surrounded with string and a crustaceans old home and a whisper
rising out of the moment like a happy ghost
and it was the first time i had ever felt lipstick on my chest
and the first time you had ever felt burts bees chapstick on your left breast
and when the wind blew through the open window
we shivered harder than we ever thought possible

i was up early in the morning and reading in the kitchen
a book by charles fernyhough
entitled “pieces of light”
it set out to prove that memory is recreated each new time it comes to mind
that every moment is a projection of the infinite waves of light crackling through
the infinite waves of shadow to create infinite waves of static
we coalesce into illumination
it said we are all pieces of light, made up of pieces of light,
calling those pieces of light that resonate imagery memory
and calling those pieces of light that cannot be named god

i confess i cannot remember what your face looked like
when you stumbled down the stairs with my tattered simpsons boxers hanging off your hips
with a tank-top loose around your shoulders
and i could see the tattoo of a warbler
like a constellation stretched across your back
calling to me like a lighthouse made of fireflies
hell, humans don’t even have access to enough language for me to properly tell you the feeling in my stomach
that felt like a soul but i don’t believe in a soul
but it felt like a soul

it was the moment i figured out why websters dictionary is always open to revision and additions

i confess i cannot remember what you said or how you said it,
i think you mentioned pancakes but you may have mentioned jesus,
you were sitting on my lap suddenly and then you were standing
and then your skin was soft and then you were wrapped in the sheer white curtains
and your laugh carried like warm rum down my throat
and my laugh came out crisp like autumn
in response

it was a big house
and your existence echoed like a candle in a cave
but the dark figures our bodies projected on the walls were more like angels than hieroglyphics

and kairos in the wind drew us to the screen door

and we stood out on the porch
when the night was coming down
and the day was coming up
and the air pressure was a perfect equilibrium
and the energy of the universe was in all places equally simultaneously
and the dust twirled around us like a spotlight
and it was weightless just like you
and the ocean was in the distance keeping rhythm for it all
and each speck of heat was moving inward
as you pointed out another lazy seagull dipping with the grace of a drunken sailor

and that, that was the first time I ever said I loved you