In a place where people expect their dreams to come true, I’m China street glucose, and you’re endless grass and a huge, flat moon.
In plaster and wood on the other side, I’m the cardturner, and you’re writing in my sun room.
In a Rocky Mountain city, Denver or Salt Lake, I’m naked in the street, and you’re gazing into a green valley from a peak.
In the arms of my love, I’m gloriously broken, and you’re a nap to Fremont and back.
In my favorite bakeries and places to hike I’m Nebraska, and you’re sprout palm welcome.
In invitation, in difference, in membership, in suffering, I’m mother, diamonds, life, and you’re home.
In this studio, part monster, I’m petite fours made into a city, and you’re silver curls like a crown.
In wabi sabi dance party, I’m golden lush shrouded jewel, and you’re black lava blue water brown.
In the most expensive, beautiful, confuzzled place on the planet, I’m $6 Great American, and you’re the same….
In a particular spot I’m ears like cabbage leaves and a big grin, and you’re conversation in liquid form.
In Wyoming boulders upon boulders upon boulders, I’m sapphire eyes, and you’re honest in every way.
In bed…or water… I’m clouds with mustard, and you’re drive scents birthday.
In lacy grey with black undertones, I’m solitude, and you’re standing up in New York.
In a bit of a bumpy place I’m a muggy August morning, and you’re Donald—no—David Duck.
This poem is compiled from responses to an online survey I created for the purpose. You can see the survey at the poem's first place of online publication.