The Story is the Love Language

I also carry a garden flourishing here where everything changes
and yet nothing changes there must be a body
which is also a portal that brings us
back to ourselves I imagine a new word for home
a new place of belonging one that remains untethered to grief

I only want us to be alive in this world

I only want all the quiet we deserve

I imagine a new word for love
one that means here
I have made for you a space of living
you you make me feel material
we we will make this world one of brave imagination

stillness is also a weapon therein

I imagine a new name for the future what I want to offer into this space
one that says we brought each other back to life we did
we were scared but we did it, anyway

the place of dying is left only for the older selves here we retain
our quiet small is beautiful
and the future is

Unruly and Bittersweet, L.A.

I grow crooked /
where sidewalks flay open, creased by earthquake.