OPEN LETTER TO A LOVER FIGHTING THROUGH A WALL OF THORNS
And blood bulbs in the wells
of an eating earth. As in dirt.
Dirty, we grow things here. See,
a daffodil yellow in the morning
light. See its song, bursting the bell.
Tra la la through the stonework. In the rafters.
Our honey could live in bells.
Our voice, our home. We could be
building monuments. We grow things here.
Your children singing to daffodils. My tra la la
in the aether. A way to find each other.
We build things here. The blue morning.
The geese honking on the roof tops.
The blinds I open. Give to the day
our naked bodies. We grow things here.
Like our hearts. To swell for thorns or light.
Our blood giving off light. Our blood also rooting
our hearts in the world.