Poet

Give the go-ahead for your heart

to strip naked. The trees

are covered with flowers,

while you vision white petals

flying out of you like

blowing blizzard down the playground,

down a field where weed-flowers

are the tiny palms of hands. You

see their faces that say, "We

are pictures of the sun for no one

but you. Our fathers and mothers

are a single motet, scored

for trillion voices. Come and sing,

be rich. Come, go exactly

half the distance to madness. Touch

our fragrant lips."