a request

be my star, be it all

the whole and the fragment, the gas and the brake

the soaring acrobat, the waiting net

be the blackest coffee, the sweetest cream

be the scowl on the man with the hastily tied scarf

be the woman clackety-clacking the paving stones

be the bag of volcanic salt in my suitcase,

stored in the basement of a Reykjavik hotel

be the hurt in my hands from writing

be my aging body that finds stealth in the marrow

the vocabulary not rich enough to say how or why

be the man who comes to say goodbye one week

and returns to say hello the next

be lovely loving love-ish for me, 

  all hands and lips and heart

be the air we breathe in and out, urban 
  yet holy and sacred

be laughter and daffodyls

be all the ampersands ever, in every size and font

be every letter ‘I’ in every book everywhere

be the accent on the letter e lifting an eyebrow 

  this way or that

above all, be the woman in the black sweater 

  and red lips

running into the wind, all joy

be the handwriting that tells this tale 

  and the coffee shop in which it is told

be open-arms and the pull of embrace

be everything you are called to be and nothing less

be the one who accepts this invitation 

  and every invitation

who knows no other word than yes

be an expanding galaxy of want

a meteor shower of kisses

be legs entwined and languid 

  with contentment

be the shoes that walk you to your beloved’s door

and be for him the pack of matches that 

  steadies a wobbling table

then lights the spark that shows you both the way

be the one thing you will always remember 

  and the million you will forget

be the one green leaf on a dying tree that shyly waves 

  at the erratic sparrows

be the sweetness in the sugar bowl 

  and the curving tongue of spoon

be the home you long for

be that beautiful ginger dog who will teach you 

  more about closeness

than all the heartbreaks combined

be every single picnic table we will never 

  grace with food

be the weight we will lose for forgetting to eat

be the man you are, the woman I am

the push to my shove

the hand in my glove

the treasured ache known as love