Table of contents to a love poem



There is something to be said
of musical notes impostering filmy bubbles
emanating from Paolo's old Emerson speakers,
spilling into otherwise empty air.
The tones buzz wall to wall, pendulum-like,
& the apartment is anxious in its sanctions.
I'm decked out on Dan's red rocking chair
thinking things through:
You were robust, the ample apple supply,
I, the amputee in hope of new limb.
I've called you my black hole
sucking me in,
you, the dog, and I, the drooping fence,
the ultimate un-knuckled fist,
the serendipitous calm colander,
a fearful sieve.
I remember last Christmas
mistaking the mistletoe's potential
happy accidents that kept happening
temporary mouth-to-mouth remedies,
the lucent ghosts of our yesterselves
careening in mid-air.



--Jason Jensen