Mate
Complexion like forget-me-nots, My favorite, pale blue and white, though better suited periwinkle, Or, more likely, the rocky underbelly of a green, green river Honking at the geese and waving to the trees Identifying nearly every bird, and yet it’s still not enough this girl, so tender gentle as dandelion blow-balls Wispy seed pods, silvery ethereal and the hand that picks them, gently, gently blades of grass that quiver in the wind unconsoled by a lullaby of laughter the ducks sleep on A couple spinning, floating on the air Dancing to the rhythm of our footsteps around and around we go like the Earth, turning around the sun perennials perishing each December but rejuvenated every March Mating season and the birds are at it again Eagles, hawks, diving and swooping in faithful pairs Mate means something a little different to us two, faithful though we are ours is the kind of closeness that needs no begging, no routine connection Call me out of the blue, old friend, And we’ll pick up where we left off a month ago In the great blue sky above, birds search for mates And us watching from the forest path, side by side; I am no longer lonely.
