Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Yellow No. 1 & 2



The frank, open face
of the daffodil,

replicating itself
in thickets and glades

like someone cloned
his own happiness

but forgot to turn
the sequencer off

A childish trick
that nonetheless

loosens my grudge,
bit by bit,

until it's lanced,
sliding down the blade

of this buttery, lovely
happy thing

----------------

Every breath,
my dandelion wish

to be swept up
by whim or lark

and disassembled,
sold for parts

to any puzzle
in search of a piece 

like this grass,
that leaf

the eyelash on
your cheek