walk

on the coldest of sunny winter mornings
in the soberest of sideways glances
you are unfocused and blue.
periwinkle at midnight
inviting a dip of electrons and nights spent
swimming in the depth of your perception
irises where everything floats only down.
but i smell cut grass.
oatmeal and a million girl-grandma cliches
quilts and fantasies emanated from
the wrinkle of paper stomach.
the shadow of your eyelashes will not capture me.
nor the infinite intangibility of your
chance ghost.
i will put on my stiff blue jeans, slightly
faded. developing a hole above right knee.
i cannot walk on the wake of your waters
i will imprint footprints on the dirt.
i will walk.