Here we sit
on top of a hill,
hands spread apart
patty-cake into the air,
cross each other’s hearts.

Infinitesimal sprinkle of a stream
buds from deep brown moist mud.
Rusted barbed wire fence
tying together pieces of rotted wood
no longer functions in it’s inhumane capacity;
division of people from dreams.
Coke bottles scattered about,
torn, shattered baby car seat,
tree bark painted rooster red,
prove that mortals camped.

Strands of multi-laminated spider webs,
like melted taffy,
dangle from tree to tree.
Cobwebs and banjo bugs stick in my eye.
Butterflies suck honeysuckle.
Two red birds, that everyone sees fly,
I see kiss and hug.
Baby squirrel seems to not notice the difference yet.
She is still not afraid of my presence.

I’ve learned to
not look into the sun and tan.
I’ve learned to
look into the sky and wonder.
I’ve learned that
the only animal who can really harm me,
come swooping out of hell and destroy me,
is MAN.

The earth is finally beginning
to transform into a better world
to live, love, laugh in.
The sky contains fewer microbes,
more air to breathe.
The man in the moon is a night-light
for a playground where lovers rendezvous
and the only shooting is baskets.
The man in the moon is a bright light
for lovers to gaze at,
not a mat to wipe our dirty feet upon.

It’s the time for
teapots and mittens,
frankincense and myrrh,
juniper berries and lazy September buds,
to burst from the embers.

Washington, DC
1970

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