What I plan to do with my one wild and precious 36th summer

I made enough plans to shame the stars.

I scattered them across the sky like constellations:

following train tracks, and skinny dipping in rivers.

Eating lángos standing up at beach bars

until there isn't a grease-less spot

on our sun-roasted bodies left.

Or we could wander through cities,

our pockets full of the wrong maps.

I'd call myself Lucy, and you'd refuse to

play your part. But in my head

I'd still pretend you're Mario,

the exchange student who only needed a little love.

Plans are like fireflies—cup one in your hands,

a flicker and it's already gone.

So this is what I plan to do with my one wild

and precious 36th summer:

memorize the blades of grass, kiss the face of

passing storms, search for true darkness

until I, too become a glowing whisper

before laying my bones in loving hands.