GIACOSO

By Jennifer Hubbard

I stand here, arms wide open, ready
to take you in beneath the clouds.
And we clasp our four hands
together, swaying with the dusty
spring air, stirred by droplets of rain
to the West. I laugh, uneasy,
at small mistakes; my toes
stood on; a beat missed
but unheard. And we waltz…
beneath a muted rainbow, no shoes
on feet, mud between toes.
My hair slicks down, flies in the wind
you spit it out with a light grin
from perfect lips, which can crush
or calm. Water drips off of my
chin, fingers, hair, lips, nose,
you and the apple blossoms.
I trip, on purpose, towards you…
you catch me up in your two arms
hold me to your soaked torso,
we laugh until cold starts to seep
into skin, leaving me shivering,
blue lipped, a flounder in foreign waters,
floating giggles to fade into silence like spring
rain, and me to drink in blue
pools of your eyes, beneath dusty
gray clouds. Crescendo
and decrescendo of notes
expressed in a movement
of measured time.
poco a poco; giacoso