we are thus this new day

when the trumpet plays
a morning begins where
I bite through experiences,
fat, stuffed queen
olives, one after another

I read poetry of moonlight
and dewdrops - mystical
morning fog makes a dragon
of the old cart horse
and a castle of your shoulders
and arms

you drop a kiss on my instep
and the black back lash
of branches on the windy night
before makes me believe
in the tender artichoke and
cloves of garlic, harvests

in other lands - the redolent
earth of spring, the faraway
glances of ice leaving the rivers
the fish beginning to swim
the promise of sunlight - all

that was and all that will be
we sing in songs of the season
our bones and brothers
everywhere, planted with
seeds of tomorrow