for Mighty Mike McGee
Looking for the scrap in a day, a week,
but this one is too small and that one too weary.
Believing that it is possible to trade
now for later, but missing the magic of the present.
I unravel my hair at the end of each day
as a symbolic casting off of all I carry: books, bags,
bookbags, keys, frames of glass to improve my vision.
Clothes to lie to you about who I am and what it is like to be me.
Most of us don’t care what the other is about, but a few with hearts
too big for their chests will love you before knowing you.
Love you for just existing; this makes you a better person.
Because you want to see what they see, what they know you are capable of.
So, is this a lie? Do they know you better than you know yourself?
Picture this, you and me and all we believe that is real.
What color is it? What does this life taste like?
How is the weather?