I could write about the fight of sitting down to write this one. But here’s something else; I was convinced I needed to do a better recording. I hadn’t listened to this one take. I assumed it was kind of halting, and generally bad. Then I listened. It’s fine. Probably won’t win any awards, but it’s plenty good enough. Abundantly good enough even. I think that’s true more often than not: if I’ve convinced myself something is unacceptably awful, it’s usually abundantly good enough.
Cheeks freckled with stars
like freight cars
a canvas at midnight
a blanket to hold tight
Lips burning with wars
Like deep fjords
A coast of colors
dropped by the sun
Tempura shawl, a finery of psalms
Bedpost lillies blooming red wine
Raindrops ripened on the vine
Hennaed my heart
like mozart
the songs of saints
Sistine Chapel finger paints
Dressed up my dreams
Crows convened
A jangle of guitars
A whisper of jaguars
Painting with honey in our dreams
the blush of sugar cane
the negligence of negligee
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