and hidden in a book and snail-mailed to you.
listen!
remember old people die when earth bursts in springtime,
remember peacen bathing in pinklight, unfurl,
pearl, uncurl,
until at last you were born?
listen! this the cycle
we wake to.
listen! you
perfect mortal who exhales
the subconscious nonmelodic music of dreams
and speaks forth the tentative, meditative rupture
of spring-time.
listen! I miss
you rarely not rawly like the blue mists
that dissipate in the promise of morning.
I love too much.
I take back touch
to have your company safely at a distance. listen,
with you at night I’d walk forever.
forever is when we hit lake-water
and our heads go under.
cdzhouse 