163

It is spring, and so
I go
out in the gardens:

green leaves and buds on
slivers of haiku
I stop
raise my nose to
early opened flowers
and inhale deeply
dew lays languid on
their petals

touched by a breeze
twigs and branches become
intoxicated
I am
showered by raining sonnets (like
Neruda's)
I am
baptized, initiated, welcomed and
find myself cavorting
in the great dance as
partners change and trade
I spin
run explore play
I hear
a shout
it is Midnight calling
but I'm already far away

Morning comes looking
for me and finds me
collapsed and maudlin
on some vast lawn and
I tell her:
"Take all my clothes
and burn them."
I tell her:
"There is no truth
except nudity."

"You're drunk."
Morning tells me

I tell her:
"It's all these flowers;
they make me want
to keep on revealing myself
until there is nothing left."

Morning sighs:
"It is worse than I feared,
you are in love."

I tell her:
"I was wondering why
everything had become poems."

©2001, by Neske.