...For Heather

This is a gorgeous poem from a friend that I will keep annonomous for now, you know who you are my love! Thank you, you took my breath away. She wrote this back in May for me and I'm finally posting it. Much love, Heather

There are women who never meet...who have the same dream of distance,
the
same language running parallel with the same speed which does not
change...they circle the earth raised by distance into the sky and pass
each
other, touching everything, as if it was simple geography or patterned
roads
moving slowly from their eyes to their hands....they lay awake at night

speaking to ghost stars and gaining wisdom from coral locomotives with
lions
feet....windows with a million and one homes to miss... having violet
avenues running like doves in their veins a merging of voices in a
procession dour with tambourines...and this procession, this merging of

voices with their little pink hearts un-caged, enter softly, our
doorways
like paper doves...and these woman...THIS woman that I know...she comes

beautiful, to me, in the moments between work and life...where all her
victories swallow red ribbons and kiss each other to death and dress in

white against her good heart... the shape of ivory hidden beneath a red

star... though right now, I imagine, she is sleeping.... somewhere on
the
shores of a land with invisible winters she is sleeping..... tomorrow's
sun
hanging it's lips just about a mile above "Grand Central
Station"...where
she will wake...and follow the clumsy grey fingers of geography until
she is
home... and I wonder if she is somewhere catching tigers in red
weather,
where a loud pulse of feet and hands fill the streets...I wonder if her

movements are still drinking fame through a camera like jealous
stars...I
wonder if she knows her little hands are missed


...you know....I still hold her, here, like a flower... just in case
she
didn't know....