I feel like a fool when I'm near you,
I want to hold you.
I love you,
And no one knows but me.

Violet, Indigo, Blue.
And she comes whistling in,
Wind in her hair,
Water in her eyes.
Yet composed, yet collected.

Green, Yellow, Orange.
And she is igniting a spark,
Breathing heavily,
Dancing steadily,
Yet determined, yet obstinate.

Red.
And she is now ablaze,
Waltzing with flames,
Skipping stones and names.
Yet pleasant and thus, complete.

A doctor told me
to smack the bed
with a tennis racket,
and when I was young
I beat up
my stuffed dog,
and when I got older
I attacked the trees
in the back yard,
so now in my late middle years
I hit the chair
three times
and then bow to it.

So, the window
is open
and a lawnmower
is speaking
in mechanical tongues
as the weather
in early spring
is warm and nice
and the birds
are, you know,
well, birds,
and a friend told me
a long time ago
that Detroit
could be completely underwater
in the future,
so even though that bothers me

I guess it's OK.

WRITE your wishes
  on the door
  and come in.
  
Stand outside
  in the pools of the harvest moon.
  
Bring in
  the handshake of the pumpkins.
  
There's a wish
  for every hazel nut?
There's a hope
  for every corn shock?
There's a kiss
  for every clumsy climbing shadow?
  
Clover and the bumblebees once,
high winds and November rain now.
  
Buy shoes
  for rough weather in November.
Buy shirts
  to sleep outdoors when May comes.
  
  Buy me
something useless to remember you by.
  Send me
a sumach leaf from an Illinois hill.
  
  In the faces marching in the firelog flickers,
In the fire music of wood singing to winter,
Make my face march through the purple and ashes.
Make me one of the fire singers to winter.