this is an  apology
for the way  
i've been  missing
you-- for the way this
morning was both my
windowsill & a front door
& how i keep drifting
back to your body--
your smile dangling
a comma on a comma on 
a comma--
i became a poet
so  that i  didn't have
to know what commas were
really used for--
i  use them to run on--
run  on
i want to be a run-on
sentence with you--
i don't want to use punctuation--
i want to hold you like
the arms of an  ampersand--
entangled in itself turning
around & saying 
& & & &
tomorrow  i will  wake up
with so many poems 
to ignore writing--
they swarm-- wasps 
at my window-- their
slender black &  yellow
bodies-- they tell
me that a poet is
so clumsy to fall for 
someone-- as mundane
as another red  oak 
leaf-- oh look
there he goes-- another
poet dropping from
the tree unnoticed --
he'll probably write a poem
about it won't he?
he'll probably come his
feeling for 
you to something like 
an orchid or 
an august night--
this is now become an apology
for writing you another
poem--i hope
you  like it
this apology for
not being able to 
stop thinking about how
every time you speak
you send ripplies
through me--
i can  be your
little tide pool
full of sand-dollars
& shells &
word echo waves--
i wonder how
many poems you'll find 
yourself in  here with
me--
oh catch me--
while
as many times
as you want
i'll fall slow for you--
a red oak
october rain &
so loud with
missing you