Marco Polo

i spent most of eight months in bed

a trio of squirming gherkins stuffed into a pickle barrel.

you were cut loose one by one by one

under the glare of theater lights.

i was the heart you swam under

the pulse in the background as your bond formed

and i wish i could think of a word other than mystical.

i still hear in your adult check-in conversations

what only you share, as childhood chant:

marco marco polo polo polo

as always, always, you swim across your lives to find each other.