Dancing with angels in the high blue sky,
I sang and loved, and loved and grew
So fat with love I fell
To the mud behind a house
With windows, and a door I painted blue.
(No pillow, lamp, or chair, Nor even my own room.
Just a kitchen, and a broom.)
Chest pressed tight between earth and skies,
I lift my face; see boots mud spattered–
Look round, meet your blue blue gaze. I rise,
Flattered you are a place to rest my head.
And I cannot find my breath.
(Nor lift my hand, nor call a name
Nor know before me anything to claim).
You smile, speak windows, doors; give flowers–
Take the sky, turn, walk away.
My legs planted deep in thick wet mud,
I watch, and without voice
Or rhythm, stand alone and sway.
(with miles to go before I sleep
and angel promises to keep.)
Now, breathing deep, and deep again,
I cup my fingers, plead for sun.
My feet, my knees, my waist plough dirt;
Seeds of flowers stain my shirt.
The sky (my door) sings blue ahead…
(And for me, at last, a garden bed.)
