Poem

 

If our mouths go on

in tiny mouse-like kisses

the air does not tell

a friend, nor does it

take a breath

let it out that I was

clumsy, you, awkward.

If I suddenly say flower

the rain does not write the poem,

"droplets".

Does not wave, 

or think dark cloudy thoughts.

But when I find out who you are.

What but spring

suddenly under honest trees

knocks at my door

and asks to be let in.