Gentle sun showers,
Spring petals of cherry tree,
  .  .  .  Light sparkles in air.

My hands on her skin,
Like a child I remember,
Soft sands at the beach.

All the new flowers have gone.
I see flocks of birds flying away,
The waters of blue mountains
Fall, rush and scold, are running
Cold— wind, whispers and goes,
Lonely as a tree without leaves.

Her lips misty moist  .  .  .
Spring bursting purple lilacs,
  .  .  .  Ripe aureolas.

Stars reign overhead  .  .  .
Before day, showers of bliss,
  .  .  .  Sun takes her away.

We rested by sea  .  .  .
Before sun she closed her eyes,
  .  .  .  Sunset came early.

She brought me poems,
Writ in language I don't know,
  .  .  .  Every word a gift.

Will our love grow strong,
As our bodies curl, asking,
  .  .  .  To dream great rivers.

I want to read a book
That's never been read
Hear a gentle word
That's never been said
I want to sit back
And close my eyes
When I open them up
Everything is alright

I want to ring a bell
That's never been rung
Sing along to a song
That's never been sung
Pull back the curtain
With all of my might
So I can expose
Everything is alright

I want to see
What has never been seen
Take a long walk
In the hands of a dream
Reach as far as I can
The highest of heights
And pull down to earth
Everything is alright

I want a spot
Where I feel I belong
Take all that I've got
Before it is gone
I want to shine
The brightest of lights
So I can find
Everything is alright

Words set to music
give the body tonic--
poetic melody:

rhymes, rhythms, caesuras,
meters, beats, stanzas
and envoys
in use.

Making millions of dollars
off an album,
platinum
pop stars:

hounded by paparazzi,
landed in a Jaccuzi;
deified are poets--

pursued by Muse's mustang
midst the prairies
of inspiration
trotting.

Poetry draws no pretty penny,
prizes like the Nobel
praise.

Mummy poetry is exhaling
in the lyrical pantheon
of music.

Sweet flower, all the meadows creatures
Are dancing, giddy in their bustle ways
And even the wild cherry has petals laid.
How do they all know that we are in love?

Sprouting new lovers  .  .  .
Walked through sunny spring gardens,  
  .  .  .  Green fingers entwined.

Morning sun is shy  .  .  .
All day and late flowers sing,
  .  .  .  Orange poppies beam.