lost paradises

a white piece of notebook paper
this morning, I felt like
in the gutter
and the sun bright, my eyes
not as dark as the sky

walking slowly, steps
plunging in pavement as
ripples shift the path
and grass
her soft eyes telling me

on a languid line
across streets and motors
firing to the Gulf in
a long a day turning longer,
my giant eyes

ahead now almost to
to the point of
she told me it was okay
rustles from above
quaking aspen leaves in mountains
blazing branches
up here, rain clouds.

her hand in mine
it was okay to
and clouds breaking