I am only miles past, my dear
the window where red hairs flew
the sidewalk where jackets
mingle by, sputtering
‘Chaminade Chaminade’
how do you manage
such brashness.
That fingered whistle
and even I adore you.
your childish actions
spill fireworks and,
bells of laughs chime
Dayton, full of floods,
and history, Germany,
misplaced countries
where are you from? My dear
where does that redness
dwell? In my bones, perhaps,
your smile pulses.
Two catholics take words
and pipes and prayer books
stuffed into grandchildren.
I will inhabit, your lips,
spit and breathe vowels
and marry you.
My red head, my post card,
that carries me miles from home.