love poem for denver

I could be quiet for you.
I could be your open cup,
your student,
your Daniel San.
Mr. Myagi me, Denver.
We could speak in broken bodies,
street steam and heavy swallows of
mountain air. No need for slogans.
Pull the tags from my hip and claim me.
I will let you wet my tongue with splendor
and gulp you down like secrets. No shouting.
No banners. We move the same.
I, too, am a wilderness of street signs.
Teach me how to hold a yellow light in my
palm as easily as a sparrow,
I will slow down for you.

I know others have made promises.
I’ve made plenty of my own, but me and my land
fit like high water pants and its getting awkward.
I want to learn your rules.
Your stop/go method of breath.
Every step I take inside of you feels like the
break beat laughter of a monk. Your finger
runs along my rim and I am a singing bowl.
We make a good fit. We make nice prayers.

If only you would look at me, like you
did in that one parking lot moment. When
winter floated in like used dryer sheets, when
the day had been too long, and you were tired
of carrying the weight of hungry people.
I think you were honest when you said,
“I want to go on long walks with you.”
I think in that moment you were asking me to
drink from you. Like maybe our mouths were
the only lesson plans we needed, the only
place we actually belonged.