- NaPoWriMo
Every day the path not taken
emanates a radius unknown.
I awake drenched with blossoms,
the gnarly elbows of the crabapple
above; my man in my arms again.
You remember that poet with arms
like branches, one-leggedly
dancing his lessons?
His poem gave us his feet
swinging in the sunshine
from a Santa Fe garden wall.
He gave us spurs and boots on
the cowboy slouching to the chemo room.
A poet can love that cache of words
like some lust for gold, property, cars.
Kaleidoscopic shuffles of syllables win
me like a jackpot, tied up in a kerchief
on the mesa, the prairie under the stars.
Oh poet, my heart is yours.