This paper, blank and white as conception,
wants the snow of your thoughts to saunter dizzy through
empty sky-mind onto the street of the page and not melt,
but freeze on winter lawns of Microsoft Word for the necessary months
of nothing until springtime tolls its joyful nineteen bells and is clearly
solidly heard in the pristine night time alleys and afternoon cul-de-sacs
of your priceless baseball diamond sparkle and sound.
Frozen ideas turn and ease in the warm hearth of conversation,
liquefy, become water and flow,
transparent and pure as streams in high mountains.
Small dogs bark often and freely, leather mitts fragrant,
smelling of mink oil rubbed in good for seasons of play, snap
and thump sensuously in response to hard ball and fist, toddlers
squeal at their big brothers stranded on second,
there is now no need for anyone in the White House,
Congress or Pentagon to work or pontificate today.
In the green bleachers and workplace lunchrooms
talk of quietude connects, creates what matters,
listening.
Evening opens and falls
soft as a rose,
everything gleams
like seed of pearl
on a woman’s skin,
glistening.
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