it’s what stays after summer’s gone

what fills a horseshoe and lies at the end of every rainbow

and what returns after every single winter

it’s mathematical and musical

and fearfully chaotic

it’s the spaces between your eyelashes

and between the oceans and the skies

and the sand

it’s a little bit alive and a lot personal

it’s the noodles i hear and the music that boils

and the shirt i ride and the bike i wear

and the carpet that floats and the cloud that’s arrived from the orient

after we’ve made love

it’s hard the first time and never easy

it’s rarely comical but at the heart of humor

and on first-name basis with tragedy

it’s mostly under my control and has a life on its own

it’s the war of the pieces

and the peace of the weapons

it’s neither fact nor opinion, and usually a paradox

it’s a whole lot of truth, too

it’s knitted and woven

of candle wax and pralinés, men’s beards and morning breath

it’s that last cigarette,

that last sip of whiskey

that last lover’s kiss

for the old man

it’s a child’s first ice cream

and a dog’s splashy swim

it’s mostly a verb,

and the jargon of the mute

it’s that first kiss and her hard nipples and a transplanted organ

it has no natural habitat

except for between you and me

and the mistress

it’s never punctual

but perfectly timed always

it’s unbridled joy and never ages

it’s an atheist’s prayer and a criminal’s confession

it’s an intentional arrangement

and a drunkyard’s last lulled words before dawn

it’s God’s incentive for man to be literate

it thinks God’s a woman

and the man in the moon gay

it knows no rules and no patience

and doesn’t like them either

it’s rarely humble, never harmless

it’s the soul at dialysis,

serendipity’s signature,

and always spiritual

all that,

that’s a poem,

and more