the shape of it

On a particle of dust, I’ll build a home – we’ll plant our roots
and toes in the sound of violins! -- our molecular bedroom (blue)
will float along the waves of music, pushing through the walls
like a kayak on the water, like a train track on a bridge.

We’ll let jazz and Brahms and Amadeus Mozart carry us far to
ancient mud castles on the edge of the Ivory Coast, through
grainy wind and gritty sun, across mountains of pebbles and
gold reflections of electric starlight, neon flashes of science,

and though birds and bugs might fill our flat suburban ears
and flowery ropes of yellow and fuchsia explode inside our
empty eyes, nothing is quite so striking as the shape letters
make when they spell out your name

    arranged just so
                   sitting still
                            barely breathing.