true love, no. 2

jocko made a hip-hop, breaking down his smile
into lopsided parts
did a jump, 2-step and finally
no step
sat on little jilly's swings and
hooted
all the while
forsaking a twirl
going through his famously confusing
explanation of love

whipped cream on lemon sorbet
raspberries in a root beer float
are true love

and he let me flip through the seconds
adjust the volume
cross my legs and exhale
in befuddled awe

baseball in Paris
cricket in Omaha
are true love

and he let me toss my scruffy shoes
across the afternoon shade
wriggle my toes into the sun
ponder the first tulips
stretching

foie gras with capers and shallots
camembert and sangria
are true love

and he let me muse
listen to a rowdy horse fly
aretha with my angelic falsetto
as he howled

jelly bellies at the Met
poneys at a rodeo
pancakes and grits
are true love

and he let me dream
of midnights
singing with my radio and
baking oatmeal cookies
with my father

and i often think of jocko
here where we left him
some other day
and i often sit
unspinning hours
waiting for his observations
on the silliness of life
expect to hear him breathing
in a rhythm slow
and measured
like true love