If I could, I would have a large studio
scattered with Kandinsky rugs
popping with red & orange
There I would write in front of windows
larger than I.
They would stand open to embrace
soil aroma skidding on mistral streaks
I would watch willow branches
sway in wind, their leaves pulsate
I would hang copper pots & star-
shaped wind spinners from rugged
wooden beams overhead.
Sun shaft & shadow & starlight would undulate
across my notebooks, scattered
over my desk, half-open, rough
around the edges.
And if I could, in the evenings,
I would pull down darkness
like an ebony shade over earth
so that we—scattered in our lovely colors
across ocean & countryside & city & forest—
could sleep in safety
while charms of hummingbirds
spun & hovered in dreams
above jasmine blooms
like stars in grass
waking within us the knowledge
of roots like veins
running through All.