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.
No comments:
Post a Comment