Purpose. Way. I love
the wild rose’s thorns
with a child’s foolery.
Were I madder than men
with tall green hats…
Scratch. And the vinyls play.
I know how searing white
is the night’s sky. When all eyes turn
to heaven, I am witness to that Lady
who is the dawn’s embrace
unfolding Her wings.
Having been wrapped in joy
wholly inarticulate,
I stand in the fields
of strawberry green.
05/30/2015