San Mateo–Dec 2009
Lassoing locomotive clouds that
hurtle through cyan sky, send me
fluttering and flying with them,
the butterflies and leaves in some
absurdist melody that always
fit us best.
There is no too high or too low when
I am looking for you.
I break your suppositions and prepositions
with a buck of my clouds and scream
I’ll be waiting for you on the other side
with my heart in hand and rope let go,
clouds running insane as only free things should:
ready oh ready!
for your smile to burn my skin
like the sun never could.
dirttoleaves.com 