I need no vow,
no why or how
nothing lavish or grand:
only your hand.
When the bruises take long to fade
and the bills haven’t been paid
and your almond milk skin
becomes a record
of a life you made
and can’t forget
I’ll be your net.
Fall like a tightrope walker
from the wire.
Fall into desire.
Let’s drive
on Interstate Five
and study the sky.
Let’s find the dippers,
pouring the syrupy night,
and the dog, always running behind.
There’s an SOS
written in the earth.
I don’t know if it’s mine or yours
but I can see,
and I can stand
and I can be the one to hold your hand.
* * *
Wael Abdelgawad
Fresno, California