The wind hears many secrets As he blows at his election. Only a hearer at best— He mulls them over and again But doesn’t repeat or think aloud

Bless each palo verde bloom— Those cuplets kissed by the sun My vision wants to consume That thus have raptured my love. See how they speckle the tree

What love is this That spellbinds me And keeps me returning To read scripture? Older I will get

As empty as the future So is a soaked page Whose ink has run off. I hope to be the author; A new and boundless decade

Old age doesn’t exist for all Because many claim its presence; I submit that living goes on Through many-hued firmaments. A shade of love lives here

Flowers in the desert Vibrantly grow forth In yellows and purples Despite the salty Earth And when I think about

To a stranger who has died Money is nontransferable— That the Egyptians tried— The kings – they’re unconsolable – But I know of things that follow:

Coming from within a rising hedge Of voluptuous white oleander— I sensed a turmoil; one writhe Seduced better than before And within the naked boughs

A rose gave up her secret Of its origin – of its beauty – In the shadow of her crescent— Fiercely hushed once to me. She told me of a plan of love

A milky-eyed mourning dove Sat upon a tombstone – tacit – Inside the grounds of St. Francis To admire a cache betroved. A sentinel’s duty – it bears –

On Havana’s white shore – With each salt-infused whirl That agitates its border— Every sand is a potential pearl.

How capricious it is To follow the tail of a comet And skip across Saturn’s rings - To wade in endless streams - Cloaked in ether’s blanket

See there marches Orion With Sirius close at his feet Tarrying not long in the air To begin the midnight hunt. His quickened breath congeals—

Let us drink in the sunshine From a cup of globe mallow As would one of palatine Privilege beside God’s throne. Here’s to another springtime.