Wonder. Lust.

Forgive my words if they run away from me towards you.
It has been awhile since I’ve written and containment isn’t an option.
     (Usually the inspiration is some dissident:
     distant melancholy pulling me,
     strings, threads
     to that play-space where I hammer-smoke verse, a mixed-bag blacksmith)

I am not a bee keeper, nor hive queen.
Have no patience for dewy netted hats, protective gloves, or giving directive,
Besides
Not all separation and order yields nectar,
Not all togetherness stings.

What I want is to stop waiting at airports for trains...
To mark one lil lazydaisy valley my heart’s cornucopia,
A newly forged instrument,
     hybrid: flute, didgeridoo, sitar, and soku.
Its lithe love songs tangled in my hair, like your hands.

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