The hidden things that make life worth living:
the visible pulse under golden skin,
the empty stomach from years of giving,
the quiet eyes as new mindframes begin:
All that vision, dream, impulsed and invoked
by the glare of the sun upon my smile;
She looked at me blankly, she quipped, she joked,
"You're all I have and need; your faith's on trial."
One can hear the air think, if you listen
to the shadows scrape the grass with salsa
steps, and turn the leaves with hands that glisten,
and float planks over seas like a balsa:
I lost a lot of time just following
thoughts, but I can dream seas by swallowing.
urbansonnets 