Jessy Assy

as the anachronistic

doing and not having

makes it possible

to remember

gondola rides

we have yet to take in Venice,

or tulip fields

we have yet to fall asleep in

in Holland

as I wake before you

and run mad

in my white lace dress

to our warm winter home

or our cool summer cabin

either of which

we haven’t purchased yet

any more than

we’ve paid

for those orchards

of olive trees

and pairs of hammocks

I see us sleeping in

as our business

takes off,

though

the papers haven’t been

signed yet

and the contract-

along with our other

projects,

trips,

and investments-

remain in a permanent state

of impermanence.

Pending-

like my wishes on stars

and in wells-

there, but not quite here yet;

unlike my love for you- 

luminescent,

here,

always.