"I do not believe a word I have said,
except some, except I think of you like a young tree
with pasted-on leaves and know you'll root
and the real green thing will come."


Last night, while I waited for you, I sat and read through your book of words everybody should know. Close to careen and far from Louisiana, I found your circumlocution.

It reminded me of my own.

I thought this morning, too, of old first dates and how I saw nothing but good omens in the effortless decisions that lead Mike and I across state lines, late at night, down snowy Pennsylvania country roads. And I thought some more, of all the effortless decisions to come, leading me here, so far from home.

I'm sick from effortless decisions.

How perfect you seemed to me with reed in glass, promise of growth, and grace. How flawed I feel, headache and dry skin, sitting in a library trying to convince you of the worth of my effort.