June 20

comments 4

How easily you stepped
into my dreams,

how easy a presence,
although dreams are at best

the first pass
of an impressionist–

colors made sentient,
but poor predictors–

waking today I feel

the urge to fling
open the windows

and fling open doors
and throw a convocation

for all those cautious birds,
saying this is mine,

my treasure, my new
call to call!

In other words,
to coat this fragile thing

in brashness,

easily passing
as an act of creation–

but make no mistake,
I am holding fast

among all this gold
and cerulean


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