this morning’s clouds scattered blushing petals
east, hung suspended as I
dozed on the couch under white purple
orchids discovered at my doorstep in last week’s drizzle:
the train whistle blew 9 times to the west &
further & further the sound rippled
each time before touching my body—
next time I walk by the swollen river I’ll ask
Canada geese to carry my message north to
your house by another seashore:
please come someday when
boughs on the avenue float in folds of coral
kwanzan blooms & I will kiss you fully on the mouth
all the kisses I owe till we nap beneath that same
bay window in mid-
morning light spreading white rhododendrons:
you needn’t fly home till the next true west
chrysanthemum moonset
Jack Hayes
© 2015
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