Love Songs in Another Language
Her name has the sea in it.
And the word for sailor.
It could’ve been a cloud, a precious stone,
the chaotic skywriting of the flock.
In the end it’s about the tone
to grasp any real meaning.
A third character sounds like
the month of June.
Not soft, not like those reliable
summer nights, the kids
called from the pool
and some old guys
grumbling about the evening news
tap their pipes,
commiserating at the curb.
Her name has the word when
in it, too. When love songs in a language
you don’t entirely understand
are still love songs,
and not the dumbfounded stare
of her boyfriend asking when and
where she got that tattoo?
Legs crisscrossed, indelicately composed,
arms thrown wide. Steady as she goes.
Not the same when—it isn’t a question—
looking out at the open sea
never asking for anything.
