poems are raining down from the ceiling.
poems are crawling in from the windows.
the garden is blooming poems.
it is also a poem.
this house is mostly poems.
the yellow dog in the yellow house is barking poems.
the girl who lives down the street is a poem
and she speaks to the neighbor in poems.
me, watching them from my window, is a poem
and all the words i want to tell them are made of poems.
her brother rides a bicycle poem
and the laughter he leaves behind is a poem.
the man who walks by smiles a poem.
more children come, dressed in poems
and they begin to play, which is my favorite poem.
the sun sets, like a poem
and the darkness that comes is a poem.
nobody goes home, and this too is a poem.
the crickets begin to sing, which is a kind of poem.
today is all poems.
the lamppost is shining poems,
the light is a poem,
the cold coffee is a poem,
this window is a poem,
and the night that holds all of this is a poem.
oh, i never want to leave.