When all my five and country senses see,
The fingers will forget green thumbs and mark
How, through the halfmoon's vegetable eye,
Husk of young stars and handfull zodiac,
Love in the frost is pared and wintered by,
The whispering ears will watch love drummed away
Down breeze and shell to a discordant beach,
And, lashed to syllables, the lynx tongue cry
That her fond wounds are mended bitterly.
My nostrils see her breath burn like a bush.

My one and noble heart has witnesses
In all love's countries, that will ***** awake;
And when blind sleep drops on the spying senses,
The heart is sensual, though five eyes break.

as my neighbors air conditioners blaze
someone has to sit outside
take long mental logs
of the reluctant halfmoon
behind such white cotton candy cloud formations
this cerulean filled july afternoon
cottonwood shade, swirling breeze
ample enough for me
to find grace
ample enough for grace
to find her voice