A tourist goes to see something. A traveler sees it along the way.

In the depth of my soul there is a wordless song.

A poem begins with a lump in the throat.

Whatever causes night in our souls may leave stars.

And I am jealous
of your tattoos and how long
they will stay with you
after I go.

I bet if we dusted her heart for fingerprints, we’d only find yours.

remember:   the body’s pain and the pain on the streets
are not the same      but you can learn
from the edges that blur      O you who love clear edges
more than anything        watch the edges that blur

I have buried you in every place I’ve been. You keep ending up in my shaking hands.

Perhaps they were right putting love into books. Perhaps it could not live anywhere else.