By Mark Nepo

It used to be so
complicated: going
where I’d want
without a word
as if telling anyone
made me less free.
Or coming into
a relationship
like a bus station,
checking fares and
before boarding.
It used to be so
confusing: needing
to be touched
while wanting
to be left alone,
and still it’s hard
to let all I am show
in the presence
of strangers or
intimates who’d
like me to change.

But when I’m
stopped or stalled,
I spray the plants
and they shine for me.
I laugh in public
at what music does
to my notion of silence.
I touch your wrist
and something flows