Sunday, August 28, 2011

I pull you home on the kite strings of my eyes

For all your wildness,
free of the hard facts of earth,
you float with arms furled,
lose the breeze, come to ground:

life-sized, feet of clay, you fear
dissolving when night falls,
when love's rain turns grey.

With gardener's hands
you plant daily, cool contours
cushion the stems of flowers
leggy like women who moisten
your dreams, firm girls
with faces open like tulips,
white with longing for your
lyric breath, your fiery words:

unable to move past the promise
of your own beauty.

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