a flower's life is honest,
never beginning to hear
the words that we do cause to rise.
they see equally well in day or night.
the daylight is so bright,
for human's practiced sight.
moss forms on stones' forgotten with mildewed dampness.
the fog rolls in at night and hides our beautiful eyes;
together we fade
lifting our visions heavenward, wondering,
under cover of midnight clouds,
we do not stop breathing.
let out from the streets,
into sandy nests,
we crystallize, particulars realized.
reverberations of loving times,
in a must-fill crevice,
of a lustful life.
water table high for freight trains,
that hobos must keep riding,
weeds eyed by uniforms, defoliate.
we live our lives, cower and wither,
seeing the lights a daily 'flashing,
red sails passing over the blues.
out in the streets, there are people,
the quick passing shocks,
elemental dancing surprises which open these cracks.
help us fly on clean, clear, and smokeless,
flower boxes like birds in their cages,
on window sills standing still.
cages primed to meet the feeder,
we think we need her, like oars need rowboats.
can't we drift into this paradise?
with many seeds blooming
overlapping smiling garden surprises
kept alive, coming into our lives
like revolving doors, passing in -passing out
passing by
running so fast - running out of time
many thoughts i have,
which way to go?
"grow," you say, "grow."
san francisco, august 1978
END Chapbook pp 25-26
