I hope there’s hope for you

and flying on your bike
with fireflies from men bend down, construction sites

and when you float or steer, your eyes
on ceilings white and blue
and dinners made
with patience, roots, and pride

and bees dressed as girls in izakayas,
girls you love with hair flax bright
or dark as a cave and you brought a small light
and you and her naked, a window, and a street in Rome,

The drum you heard in Spain,
your face in the shower when the water’s just right
and city lights and midnight trams that bend like laundromats,
a kid that trusts,

and no rush hours on couches with wine and drugs
and you aren’t anything but
skin and voice, memory, light

and a room is a travelling, falling, rocket ship
and no one’s alone when they cry or they can’t:
there’s balcony, there’s breeze, there’s trying hand,
there’s street with old eyes, you, alive