Observations

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Your transparent skin
has not chased away the blue
of your veins
those fine rivers
surrounded with something like the finer paper
of a map
all ready for the lost, the curious

I am/ have been
such a poor surveyor of this love,
of your body.
I get excited about landmarks
I know the names of the boundaries
but I am not precise:
I do not know the measures
I do not hold the numbers

Your eyes, the small miracles that change
golden to ecru, & back
swallowing whole sentences as
I forget what I was going to say

Every night, every dream
gives me a new space for observations
telescope & microscope hanging ready
like medallions on a soldier’s chest.
& I record what I remember
trying not to miss something;
you’re in my sight, you’re in my sight
close up, at a distance
(every distance a battle to close up the gap)
my love
& I am always just seeing you.

J.D. Harms 2019