if his chest is rising up
and down as a billowing cloud
on a smoky day. If air is blowing through
his lips, like a hole in a balloon. You place
an ear near his face to hear the air escape.

You check to see
if he’s rolling his hips,
if the sheets are still as a stillborn
lying still warm in his mother’s arms.

You check to see
if his color is ripe as a peach
hanging on the tree. Is he twitching
his knee under the covers. You
hover as a hummingbird. So quiet, you
do not break his slumber. But some slumbers
look like death. Check again, his breath.

looked at, but not touched. None
can lay their hands on the silky
soft weave of every petal that can’t
breathe.  But curls up in a crimson smile,

hiding in a crystal tower. None can whiff
a strawberry kiss placed in an upside
down vase, holding still in place, so as not
to spoil. But stillness stirs

recoil. Well, you won’t be scratched
by thorns!  But you won’t dance on plush
green lawns, or wink at the azure sky
or chat with the butterfly.

don’t go in winter. The ground
will harden. The trees will
splinter. My breath will hang
in the hair like a cloud of smoke
if you disappear.

If you leave
don’t go in spring. The rose won’t
flower. The lark won’t sing. My kite
won’t fly without a string. Don’t cut
the ties your happiness brings.

If you leave
don’t go in summer. The angry sky
bangs like a drummer. The sun bakes
and the lake’s whitecap churns. And I’d die
if you don’t return.

If you leave
don’t go in autumn. The golden
crimson leaves blossom. The apples
are pulled from their stems. Friends
hold hands around the bonfire. I beg of you
not to retire.

draw the juice out of
my strawberry skin. The thirsty hordes
of jabbing ****** drive their
sticks deep in. ******* my blood

through their straw, leaving welts
the size of my chest of drawers. The red
swollen mounds are itching me, making
me crazy. Building hilltops on

my thighs, back and arms. I swat the angry
bombers, and still the storm troopers swarm
into my face. Up my nose they make
a nest out of the hairs and lay their

eggs!  They parade in the rain. Their floats are
sticks and logs, puddles, and bogs. The disease carrying
hogs have a figure slender as a splinter! I’ll have to wait
till winter for relief, as they only like the heat.

let it pour until it seeps into
my pores. Let me run naked
in the stream, having wild girl dreams.

If it snows
let it cover me from head
to toe in a blanket of white. Let the children
stick a carrot in me, laugh and sing
to their delight!

If it blows
the wind, let it carry me
up high. Pick me off the ground
into a purple sky. So, the men
below can ask “is it a bird; is it a plane”

If it hails
let it hit me like a pellet
gun. I won’t run! I’ll jump
between the blasts. Stare it in the face,
and shake my ***!

I’m not hidden behind a mask. And man
is not driven by fear. The day we all
can dance under the same umbrella,
gal and fella, drinking a cup of cheer!

I pray for the day
that signs on lawns and in windows
don’t erupt in violence/that man has
a voice and is not silenced for his
tongue. And no sully scripts are flung.

I pray for the day
to arise soon/that man sheds
his cocoon and spreads his arms
to embrace his fellow man
face to face.

and the baths. My feathered
friends won’t splash to cool off
on a raging hot day. Not a drop

of water to swallow
as the grass turns to hay. No
dancing song from my lawn on
a languorous July afternoon. Soon

I won’t hear the chirping
beaks dining out cheek to cheek,
amongst the cotton tail bunny. So funny
seeing him pick the bits that fall from

the outdoor café. He looks
for grey pedestrians, that shove
their bushy bodies in. Mass Wildlife warns a
mysterious illness leaving the song

birds with crusty eyes -
crusty as my cinnamon crumble
apple pie. So, many died. And I ask
how is this? Since the virus the Robin

and jaybird are my friends. Now,
here I sit on my splintered deck –
sipping lemon and gin
all by myself again!