Apple Pie

I see you up there, gliding through the sky like it belongs to you alone.

My river is richer than ever before,

turtles sun themselves on fallen logs

while bass and bream slip through crevices

in submerged shale,

the cypress breathe through me,

rainbows of river birch leaves cascade from treetops

amongst the oak and cedar,

moss like velvet carpet on the islands with the skinny giggling current

running through rocks, creeping through cypress knees.

I loved that chamber beneath the sea, give thanks to whatever gods

granted us admission into that luxurious, dappled, verdant room—

it was ours exclusively, not another soul may enter there;

the knowledge gained

won’t burn down the world, won’t touch this world at all

without our permission that we’ll never give

Keep it forever, the freedom we found;

tuck it into your back pocket if your heart feels overcrowded,

fold it up into a beautiful origami bird,

let it rest under the rock that is my eyes,

and believe with me

the best gifts we could give were never ours

until we stole them and ran the clock backwards

all the way to Genesis

If we never have a next time,

we can thank the moon for this time

everytime someone serves a slice of apple pie.

A la mode is best.