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
Who really believes we are made up of bones?
Why did my mother put me in a room of my own?
When I dream, who makes it up?
What was the name of the horseshoe crab before horses?
Why do children bring their rocks into the house thinking they are snails?
When I am sad, why doesn't the earth fill with hellos?
Will I finally be able to hold my kidneys?
How much longer will people forget the truth?
Don't they know it will flower soon?
What has there to be completely removed before there is spring?
Do I really understand the existence of stars?
Is the firing squad ready for the maker of guns?
Why did someone out me of what they saw die?
Why does the blue come off the blueberry when you rub them?
What happens when the tiniest particle is loved?
I want a happy ending with skeletons
with the real green jokes
with the brightness that invades the purple
the invisible carousel in the busy marketplace
the essay fresh and bobbing in a pool
a song that grew out of a glancing shoelace
thoughts from the unconscious
story I will tell you about
the texture of an address
the glad world canvas
the instant bird eternal
the moon in the corner of the universe
the distinct smile
the volcanoes of corn
things fitted into voices
as passengers close in
and sound their horns
