Nathan AM Almeida

[22 February 2020]

Frost,
and I see you standing there, head
held tall, tilted sideways, filling the space
between the under
sky and the over sky, claiming it,
calling it your own with such a sweet sense
of deference and forbearance and gentle
uncertainty that makes my
heart jump when you walk
by or maybe sometimes even brush my hand. Was
it deliberate? I count the moments
between seeings and wonder if a life could be built
here, built up over and over and over and
over, stringing together the simple rhythms
of daily things into rust-red bricks and honey-oak
floors and slightly cracked drywall and bathroom
tile: the things that give us meaning
make us human.