On the back of the MBTA bus An ad for Devil Dogs complete With photos of “vanilla-flavored Crème sandwiched between two Fun-shaped Devil’s Food cakes” Exclaims “Yes please!” urging us To “listen to our cravings” which is To say consume whatever we imagine Might fill the hungry ghost of fear That dwells in each of us living In this land of plenty where more is Never quite enough: but what if Craving became longing for something Of another order, and what if we instead Said “Yes” to prisoners, lepers, refugees, And what if we might someday learn To let this moment be enough, This naked twig, this autumn sky, This bird in flight, this drifting leaf.
The kindergarten bus bounces past me this morning as I shamble out to my car and a little cheerful kid waves To me shyly and whatever it is we are way down deep Opens like a fist that’s been clenched so long it did not Think it would ever open again and for a moment I am That kid and she is my daughter and I’m waving to her Hoping she will wave to me and we think that we can’t Write that for which we do not have words but actually Sometimes you can if you go gently between the words
Petals unfold from your tongue, you speak crimson velvet freshness into being. An opening bud of careful precision, a floral life floating on your breath, bees, and boundary.
You expand a mystery of molecules, at your word atomic spice springs into breeze; you dizzy hummingbirds, intoxicate butterflies. Shining beams play, shimmer, light your Shulamite, invite a tango.
You draw. Come, find my notes poured out in the garden, etched among lemons and limes. See, the lost apricot awakens! Sweet shoots adorn black crumbling branches. On every cell I inscribe: what was dead is alive.
You wait for me to discover your love among the leaves and thorns, (will I perceive it?) your hidden blossom of wonder, a shy heart-shaped valentine of third heaven, a sachet for this moment, a marked downbeat
of song, a bodily inhale of my eyes and skin and hair and breath. Filled with rising melody, your unspoken lyrics whispered on wind, I join your written roses in swaying dance, in blood-red bloom of belonging.