Unknown Love in Los Angeles
Perhaps we fashion untruths daily,
our memories become remarks at a funeral—
never mentioning the bad particulars
to honor our idealism.
The most beautiful woman that I can remember
I saw slantwise from the window of a speeding car.
In this glimpse, her body stretched into vectors,
curved hips melding into curved freeway,
breath rhythm lengthening into skyline pulse,
laugh crinkles clouding into dancing city lights.
It was over quickly, but for me
these memories are the most spacious.
You see, I never met her.
In a city always moving love is trackless—
without paths leading in or footprint remainders.
Just pray for rest. Pray for more
than the screech marks of smoldered rubber.
If you see me on the freeway, wave.
I will be the man that drives while
rubbing a disposable razor along my chin—
again and again even though
there is no more hair.
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