Beat-Up Trunk of Old Forgotten Paintings

The air is a nice surprise, once you get over

The cold. The first thing I wanted to do was

Turn my palms up to the sun like solar panels

And juice up. After that everything comes back to blossoms

And stems and more leaves. Then the thoughts return to

Their rightful places, resting among your hair like daisy chains,

Or follow the path of your walking feet like ecstatic

Gypsies, tranced-out, making  new music out of whatever is available.

This is the circle of my life, well outside the

Worn away seasons, and it has its own traveling forests

That provide the heart with its many windows. Every branch

Provides enough mystery to keep the skipping splashing water wheels

Turning in time. I'm as surprised as you, but not

Nearly as turned out. Poems won't allow any dishonest shadows

Cast. And I'm not interested in pursuing half-truths in order

To appear less sad. I've made my bell. I won't

Abandon its one true blessing just because you are tired

Of hearing something I never said. That was just a

Tide. That was a very still shell crunched beneath a

More vigorous lilac wind. The gulls might have heard an

Ache in the newborn grains of sand. I don't know,

But I can guess. Love is always beginning. That's what

Keeps it so much younger than you, not the other

Way around. Sorrow doesn't pass on the chance to speak

Of joy. My path is not your strange rabbits running

Under the apple tree like landlubber bees, but a mystifying moment

All its own. I give it to you, but not

To keep. I'd like it remain butterfly wild and hummingbird

Free, but those are just the colors I prefer. Once

More we come to the end of my song. I'm

Happy to make it in your name. If I disappear

In a deep, deep sea, I go my own dreamer.

Bonus material:

I Would Kiss You

I would kiss you if I thought

You needed kissing. I would

Touch your hair if I wanted

To feel the wind in my face.

I'd walk holding your hand if

I wanted to listen to it

Rain. I'd write you a song if

I couldn't think of anything

Else to say about the

Beauty that surrounds us. I'd

Embrace you if I sought an

Explanation for what's always in

My heart. Again I'd kiss you

If I thought it might comfort

You, leave you without any regrets,

But I would have to be sure.

I would kiss you because I'd

Want to remember what we

Came here for, to this poem's

House, to the combustible

Planet's inviting window, the time that

Goes on and on shaking the night like a freight train.

 Mirror

Take these pretty poetry things before

They are finished, you know you

Want to. Take all the pale

Fingers fluted with rings, the nails

Becoming visible at last like the

Sails of great ships, the bones

Beneath the waves holding the life-force

In its place, ripe with pulsating

Branches of many bells, and eat

Them, drink them, become them. Take

As many tall trees as you

Can and stuff them into the

Cotton bags of clouds like dried

Snakes. Take clouds and float them

Across a mirror. Take a river

Then and pour it on your

Hair like a silk scarf and

Laugh out loud. Throw your head

Back, open up your throat like

Never before and finally light up

The night like a good little

Star. Of course they won't listen.

But put your hands deep into

The fields of stars and pull out

All the moons you are meant

To know, and get to know 

Them. Remember this, a garland of

all the roses in all the

world isn't enough. The streaming morning

sun isn't enough. Only love's enough.