Light Turnouts

He rode here on a tandem bicycle.
I couldn’t find you for the crowd.  We’d expected light
turnouts, what with those helio-
raptors menacing the local fauna lately.  And now since
they released all those kittens into
the public parks system!  These simple breezes westering off
the water
can not cover o’er the tracks of my feelings for you
-- thou these, like everywhere else, are shifting sands
which famously snake their way over the
farthest Saharas.

Fluttering too, like loose hems of summer dresses --
provincial girls on their bicycles tossing laughter like ribbons.  Skipping
mountains.  Their amber lights beating against the current
as assiduous as fireflies.  But over the distant and immediately
receding horizon a distant lightning, bereft of thunder. 
“You act tough.  You act like Senorita,” she said.  The hard bite
of channel tunnels and soft fern

repairs the contemplated line
the music of the cowbell, like hoop-skirts collapsible with their giving
light
unique unto a particular shape unto their own.  Moving to
those louvered windows over there --
brushing
the green fuse aside to close the aperture of
“the too much” down to the last stop
where you are tossed simple packets of the day
on the sleep-stained cuff of the receiving platform.

It’s nothing it’s just a little nothing;

but your art -- sometimes I just want to throw my arms around
so much
wonderfulness,
I mean with all those something or others running around
shuffling off the pointed but well placed word here and there

even as we look elsewhere for the root
dark and resinous.