Magda

I think of the love songs on the radio

    and think of you in a faraway city. In-
    side this mute space I have wings. I forget
    the structural damage that comes with
    the despair that love brings with it.
    I glide and float away thinking to myself
    of a cure to the warmth of the day,
the vanishing of the birds, and the distance
    of the blue care of the sky. We angle

    justice our way. It's an adjustment but
    it is also an anthem for the landscape
    that has given birth to us. I think of the
    shine of the day. I'm reading the words
    of my poems. The cold ocean washes my feet.
    I think of great lakes and rivers. Eating
    steak on a pensive, moody sunny day.
    The fire and myth in all poetry and prose.

            The extra-ordinary day. I ponder

    the vague hour wondering when you
    will come back to me. Giving me back
    the ecstasy of being in love with you,
    and it seems as if I've been kept waiting
    for reliable things. Caught in-between
    crossing the water and wild geese calling.