every morning, my pen gathers
           to glisten  
                            the love of you.
the ears of the flowers hear me,
they joy at the sounds 
                                                   to earth,
though i’m anywhere but there with you.

then, like no one living
you break me 
gently with a look, or
in a trice, with severing sword 
bring me
to parky water pools
where the fishing is 
fabled, and easy.

and your poem buoys my shallow depths.

and i learn 
these futures we plan write themselves,
and i’ve a false face that only you know.