equator/equation

when they talked about you
it was mostly about your hips…
maybe a bit above a white towel
and sometimes i wondered if they thought
about your eyes too
or the way you can push your own-ness
so intensely against the tide
of what-have-you
…or scrape your belly sidling a giant tree
or ride or run fast enough to hurt

and i’ve wondered
if, maybe, you have a giant rope or gossamer thread
tied to an equator, that makes you travel and
return
but never quite….

i m not the only
one who wonders too
about your humor, which i remember is often black,
like your hair
and about your music, writing and thoughts
and about the marriage that was bit of mechanical attraction
or magnetic invention? and a bad equation…or two
and about your new life
although not so new, but sweet
and your two girls with east and west curls, like their mum
sometimes wondering who you were…
there are those of us who know some of it…

about some oceans that you have crossed
…and about all of the times of my doubt
that you eased
with ‘kind of blue’ on the gomi cassette player
and letters of impeccable thought
slower than-should-be bike rides
and sweet and savey drinks, of red cool-aide and
peppermint ice cream….

are there times when you,
playing catch with Alice and Dylan
or dancing with your beautiful wife
know that we can see
the incredible beauty of you too?