I Came Here

in a ninth century
sports car formerly
owned by Ivar the Boneless.


It runs on ice water
and has a Viking horn
hood ornament.


I drove through words,
my tires hissing words
over hills of words.


The ribbon of asphalt
snapped me to you
like a whip.


I flew over mountains in a toy
airplane losing my hair
on the bald peaks,


it’s rubber band engine
whirring like cicadas after
a twelve year nap,


revved up and hungry,
a spinning dervish
dizzy for your love.


I climbed without fear
the hollow blue of loneliness
into inner space.


My mind sucked
into a vacuum, my eyes
smoldering like falling stars.


I put my breath
behind me
to move on.


I rode the Titanic through
iceberg after iceberg
each the size of a hundred


Manhattans to find you.
I stayed mostly underwater,
held my breath for centuries,


floated face down
cold as a splintered reed
in the icy heart


of a saxophone.
Now I open like fog
in the sunlight,


with your hand
warm on my shoulder
I turn to meet your lips.


Each day all is new.
The ancient sax
howls outside my sun


splashed window
thick and golden as honey,
brings me to hear again.

Copyright 2010 by M. D. Friedman.
Please visit www.mdfriedman.com to see more of M. D. Friedman’s work.