The Revolution below Us

I want to tell you

How the daffodils are ready

To risk the sun, and the crocuses

Have opened their mouths to the rain,

Swallowing the purple sky.

I want to tell you

There is that gypsy warmth

In the air, and we could go naked

Just like you remember.

But you are where children

Ride llamas into revolution.

Children!  Llamas!

Where there are a thousand small

Houses with their doors closed,

Each hiding a hero

The army comes to steal away,

.Door by door, root

By root.

I want to tell you that here

The sky has turned cinnamon,

Dived into an ocean of smell

And brought up apricot and apple

Blossoms that have not forgotten

How to hope.

But I cannot find you among

The thousand horses that stagger

In the dust between us, bearing

Their riders into vision so hungry

It eats itself.

You ride among mountains and jungles

I can only imagine,

Pyramids that stack immense time

Against the sky,

Women who weave their own eyes

Into the clothing they place

On each of their kin

Like a sacrament.

Strange country, I ask you,

Like a lover, to come into my skin.

Your ocean beats its same heart

On this shore; our weather migrates

Up from you,.covering the earth

With your voices in the music

Of wind and birds, falling to us

With that same heat that opens

The heart of the daffodils,

The hunger of the crocuses

Among us.

first published in Green Fuse.

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