Fill the days with white wine, still demeanor,
and grape vines; bide your time sinking in right
by the tide, and watch the sand turn from dark
to light again, feel the thirst of the earth.
Feel the sun overtake the blinds and stop
close-eyed living and dreaming in repose.
I would rather take that third of my life
by the wayside, or in a riptide.

Fill your days with touches, lips and fingertips,
with a lack of distance in full color,
your course upon this path secure, and on
this film focus on her bones and their bends,
and keep your jones for blades of grass, damp dirt,
and spades of rust – fill them with promises
of country sides and city skies.

Fill them with foxgloves, blueberry bushes
in linked backyards and by far fill them
with every bottle you’ve emptied with me,
think of them in the shades of apple trees
and please remember the winter’s shiver,
every picture taken of the pills and the pride,
dunes in Truro, sunlight through strawberry
Jamestown toile drapery in San Francisco,
Clutching down comforters to tell of words
locked in boxes with tickets and trinkets.

Fill your life with every type of smile
and while you sow more seeds in rows of threes
keeps all thirstiest leaves, every drawn mark
and nuance of my lark perception; fill
me with angles, letters, and new places,
new spaces in the world. Take those little
pieces of everywhere we go, and know
that I hate routine, and keep everything.