Ah you, bright you,
breaking day open like a dry loaf
and setting off through the billowing sky
that wafts across your mind
like shantung curtains. Girl,
you have cured my mournfulness
the way you bounce through the rubber museum
of all my enterprise. For example:
your lips are worn thin from too many
insincere kisses, and yet
they are still your lips — unmistakable!
They are not (forgive me) poetic lips or lips
in danger of creating an insubordinate
lineage amongst poets who keep quoting
one another like ducks on the subject
of plagiarism: quack quack quack!
But for all that, girl, yes you —
you have brightened
my blue period and what has been slammed
most recently shut.
Ah you, bright you,
with your unlatched laughter
and love contagious as yawning,
you are why all my locks tumble
and what springs open
this weary heart of mine.
