A poem for Wednesday

Inspired by Hila, I pulled Frank O'Hara off my shelf and opened him to this page. I found so much there that I love that I wondered how I could not have done this the day before and the day before that. And sometimes I think I should stop reading new things and only dive down into the familiar and let my toes touch the bottom of these books I love so much. But then I have this idea that I'm some inchoate girl and need to read more to become real. And it's probably neither. But there are worse, lonelier things to be wrong about.

To You
What is more beautiful than night
and someone in your arms
that’s what we love about art
it seems to prefer us and stays

if the moon or a gasping candle
sheds a little light or even dark
you become a landscape in a landscape
with rocks and craggy mountains

and valleys full of sweaty ferns
breathing and lifting into the clouds
which have actually come low
as a blanket of aspirations’ blue

for once not a melancholy color
because it is looking back at us
there’s no need for vistas we are one
in the complicated foreground of space

the architects are most courageous
because it stands for all to see
and for a long long time just as
the words “I’ll always love you”

impulsively appear in the dark sky
and we are happy and stick by them
like a couple of painters in neon allowing
the light to glow there over the river
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