If you’re reading this,
please note I’ve added a sunset filled
with pink and orange popcorn clouds
in a swimming pool sky, stringy
contrails of passing planes, a breeze
to whisper in your ears.
Let me throw in a willow tree
as it tastes the water of a small trout brook,
the steady patter making you weary
too early in the day.
And since we’ve come this far,
why don’t we add a sonnet by Shakespeare,
one he’s asked us to revise for him
given our flair for poetry.
Now imagine: none of this exists,
no sky filled with clouds, no trees sipping
from a creek, and Shakespeare
doesn’t need our help
to write one of a thousand sonnets.
What there is, dear reader,
is a sliver of moon smiling down
through the last turquoise of this day,
while we march our wooded trail,
my arm around your shoulder as we
watch the earth revolve, and kiss it –
like a kite kisses the sky –
on both of its beautiful, blue cheeks.
(From the collection, Around the Sun Without a Sail, published December, 2012)