Chasing a Freckle (3/22/14)

I watched you do a spring-step skip across a Newcastle postcard

holding your breath and taking pictures at magic hour.

Your laugh was natural, like your shivers when the humming tide

purges all of our tracks and sweeps them back to existentialism.

You are wrought with grace and for

every moment that you are a Polaroid

there will be me in a reflection somewhere,

writing words because of you

making even the most ritualistic and meaningless

into something inspired;

how I’ll trace your arm every morning when I’m still dreaming

of another coast in another life.

But still I would choose this moment because

right now, you’re just skipping across the street at magic hour.

Right now, it’s just you and me and our lobster-boat town


and today has left me content because of moments spent with you.






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