Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Beyond the Electrical Lines

The weeds are talking, symphonic in the breeze
Each blossom says “love me” to the sky and to the bees
And wave hello to we who don’t know
How our smiles come in sunglow to please.

These orange hairs may in themselves well be something
But the way they shake, along the spearmint tree
Says “What powers you, dear sun, powers me.”

1 comment:

the walking man said...

Round here we still are waiting for the snow to finish it's conversation with the sun. Spring in Detroit never happens until after 40,000 people freeze their tuckus off watching the Tigers on opening day. shit man, it's still 2 weeks off.