Lying down
I'm grasping grass clumps and trying
not to
want, shirt buttoned up
Swallow skirts the shrill blue sky...
This City is beautiful now.
(I do not tell you this lightly)
Whether I walk through, wander, or ride over it,
at one in the morning
or late lunchtime, it is the same.
Singing.
Gets my knees in ribbons,
murmurs sweet everythings in my ear and nicks the nape of my neck.
I count shades of green without counting,
pocketing them with my eyes,
signing off with a sigh
chalking up the possibilities
with crooked hope.
Relief comes only when I
stop
to not think.
Spring captures back the time spent chiming
on
about
what it might be like, when
you and I and if... but...how?
If it were not for the rivers, moon sipping,
park sway and swinging willow boughs
I might be swept to sea
with all the pondering
fronds of
seaweed and salt in my eyes.
(Spring, my friend, you save me from myself
yet badger me incessantly with your promises of love)
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