for valentine
if there is a god,
i must hunt it.
if there is shame
in putting love
to the painful thing,
then i am humbled.
still, i see the longboard
rumbling over olympia pavement,
turning this town anew.
the vision of this place changes
with every new person i meet,
with every word they speak of it,
and there is a secret language
found in any body superimposed
over these slick black streets
like they are innate
to its composition.
same haunts, same rhythm
to bars and business all the same,
cast in new light.
they kick their foot
to the blacktop,
propelling ever faster
into the quiet and known
further and further away
from where i fruitlessly
chase after them,
their musculature speaking joy,
or so i impart upon it.
if there is a god,
i hunt it—not for sport,
but for the bright and sharp
terror of the act,
of being the small thing
vying for the colossus,
some kind of love
that is not love
but hunger.
in the quiet of the night,
valentine rides
over the curve of the earth
where i cannot follow,
and i am left wanting,
left with no vision
but my own.
