Unthank Park, Portland Ore.

Hajara Quinn

Everywhere we step
we step into the ejaculate

of the sun. Splurge
of daisies, spree of plums.

I am not ungrateful
for what I have not been given.

I do not begrudge
the rolling hills

their bouquets, unbridled
and at large, manifold

as marigolds.
The sun did not stand

us up. It was a standing
ovation. We lay

two abreast in its slow
boat, we lolled there

simultaneous with the zinnias
and chrysanthemums. 

The breeze
was our anthem. 

I am thankful
for what I do not have.

The sun, when it went down
made a salmon 

lavender dipthong that
pronounced itself in us, our eyes. 

We were two letters.
We made one sound.