#13 1968
guitars
I was star-sparkling guitars
when I woke to the sun.
Lutes in the pine trees
stored treasuries, embroidered the morning
with sound. Faces delicate,
dancing to me, lip-like, light
chimed in the wind’s bell.
Darling, remember so many
happinesses are ours.
So many wonderfuls tell
an everlasting of simplicities.
Help me when I need you.
I promise
gardens break out in secret
and bloom love-shine in the doorways of the sun.