a poem a day for a year #193

I told someone today that it must be the summer sun. It must be the steady heat on my body that makes me purr. Or the trips around the sun. The age. The process. Something has made me turn the dial up. I feel like when I open my arms to hug you there's a concerto playing. When my mouth opens there is a swell. There is rock and roll in my throat. I want to put myself inside of your skin. I want everything all at once like a bucket of water on my head.

It's like when we go through a yellow light and my arms fly out to protect the world, my husband just laughs and tells me not to worry. It's only amber. Like the color. It's not red. It's not time to stop yet. There is a blur of color all around me and I don't think it's cautionary. It's more green. It's way of the earth and of the ground and the way we all connect to each other. Come over here and tell me more about how you die to touch someone. How you just have to put your hands on people to make sure the world is still alive. It's like a hot pinch. A summer myth. It's the middle of the year. The summit of everything.