Read Of Wanting and Rain: Collected Love Poems of Paul Hina 2007-2009 Page 8

else's

  tree

  161

  i've watched the pinkest blooms

  of spring wither away into greener

  leaves,

  and time moves imperceptibly

  away from me trying to find

  hints of your kisses

  like sifting through the dirt for long

  gone petals,

  the memory is the tree that holds

  the bloom,

  the limb that holds tightly to those

  old flowers,

  trying hard not to drop them,

  to lose them in this deepest,

  darkest dirt

  162

  i've been waiting to see you again,

  to speak about your hair out loud,

  feel its softer whispers wipe across

  my face—as breath or softest fingers—

  to listen to your lips lay down little

  lullabies, letting a tiniest kiss sleep

  in our warmer hands, hold it for days

  like today when poems seem elsewhere,

  hiding wherever you are, tangled in

  your private, perfect ordinariness

  163

  she is wet with rain, dewy skinned

  and bright eyed with the wonder of

  newly awakened storms, and though

  my hands are warm, she shivers to

  the touch, and as i slip my hands up

  and down the goosebumps she breathes

  out—her wind dripping on my lips, cool

  and like the snow's softest, most beautiful

  droplets were landing on my mouth(kisses

  laying across this landscape)—

  and more solitary scenes unfold before us

  and we will walk here for a long, long time,

  kicking the painted snow into almost spring's

  lilliest petals, making rain from memory

 
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