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.