By Erica LadyFebruary@yahoo.com
Date: 28 February 1999
Last
In a jungle where flowers pop open and the blooming leaps to stars,
People gather beneath trees with mountain slopes for leaves and lean back almost far enough to remember the Earth.
"Look," is all they can say.
When they go home in the morning, only the lost try to put it to words.
Old couples nudge each other as the city fills with uncertainty. They hide their smiles in glasses of milk, take jars of weak perfume from their shelves and run pictures through their minds of eyes slowly, tenderly closing.
They talk around things of beauty. They have learned bubbles can be blown plentifully, exuberantly,
Never caught.
"Remember the feathered night when my arms first opened to you?
Our hands were water droplets threading irrevocably towards each other.
Your kiss burst into me so the only memory I had (eyes closed, hiding my smile behind your teeth),
The only memory I had was of God taking me aside in my dreams one night, pointing at you through veils of sleep, leaning me forward almost far enough to remember the past.
'Look,' was all we could say."
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