Maybe Love

Maybe love will call you by your name

if you sit a little longer eating olives and alone

read a book that makes you feel things

and drink fermented tea

and rather than moving forward or

moving backward, simply levitate,

like an enchanted rug, this method is hallowed,

it has been tried.

Or in lieu of more complex plans, drive

until nearly gasless.

Think of the present rather than the past

and of how it feels,

sitting next to you in the car.

Lovingly you may find that nothing is lacking.

(I always want something different

than what I end up getting, and find that it is fine.)

Maybe I expect

that when love calls me by my name,

it will look and sound differently than it does

upon appearance- looks

like sunlight on a bedroom, sounds

like barely anything at all.

What is most stunning upon introduction

is a lack of love.

It always makes sounds,

even says things,

always looks like something or someone.

There is a little trapdoor in my closet

lined with tea-rose wallpaper.

I wonder what it will hold and realize

I have no secrets.