We jumped cheerily on and waved the world away.
To what end, we had no idea and neither did we care,
Trundling along in delight, shock, awe but always with glee
We watch the skylines change from blue to any hue.

The ides of February, then March met the virgins of the south months,
Not once, not five times but forty, with astute salutes!
The slender boughs of the Northern plains strain to kiss
The ample bosoms of their Amazonian sister’s, with success! 
Or near enough.

We drift in the fantasies of many sailors, farmers, makers of things,
And sway to the rhymes of songsters, jesters, swindlers, players, all!
The stages swing roundabouts as we rush 
to laugh,
to cry,
to check our coat pockets and cry foul!

The days merge into yester-nights
And we lose the time to dimes
Gleefully, happily, alive.


        If I love you now
It is because I’ve come
To the morning of my senses
And accepted my fate
Which is that I should derail my affectations
And draw the curtains back
From the edge of the winds

        That I should tie
The threads, of my imaginations
To the earth beneath your feet
Clipping my inclinations for flight
And instead to dream, in taffeta
Floating on cotton and silk

        That I should wilt
The expanse, of my magnificent wings,
And come down to the firmness of your earth,
And walk the length of the mile
You’ve laid in carpets of velvet
And succumb to the adoration of your fans
Assuaged and satiated by wine and meat.

        That I should forget
The sensibilities of my ancestors, 
And resist the beckoning of my deep blue sea
Or the thrusting lust of the forest beyond,
And the pressing invitations of the skies above
But lie blindfolded on the shores of your affection
And wish not for the feel of the wind in my face.

            That I should fold myself in,

            Tie myself up,

            Restrain my vision,

            Resist the wind.

            That I should be here and here only,

            That I should die.


© Rewrite 2020