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 wavy thoughts.
But when I find out who you are
and you are that.
What but spring
suddenly under honest trees
knocks at my door
asks to be let in
in carpets of air
