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Surely I have no sense at all anymore
Spreading myself out like jelly all over the landscape
Feeling not so much the colors, but the smoosh of it
A laying on of green, me-green all over
And the birds' twitter adds a tickle up my spineless spine
I'm supine in the air
A floating that neither begins nor ends anywhere
Are you there? Or she? Or it?
Go...don't figure, but figure yourself as
part and parcel of this escape, a smooth communion,
An eclipse of body-made, ready-made, prepackaged senses,
Something just-made, made-to-will
Invisible, acting for myself, for the birds, the bats,
the woodpecker knocking for another wood worm or even for
that tiny water bug on the water
The infinitesimal ripple before the beginning of strutting sun's day.
I will trade a memory of oatmeal
(the one with the really sweet milk)
for a taste of potato chips, very crisp
The coffee on the airplane that
made me high I will give
for the belly laugh when George on Seinfeld
rescued the golf ball from the whale
But if you didn't save that one,
Ill trade an old Ernie Kovacs show
for a glimpse of the Degas dancer girl at the Met
I will exchange the feel of satin
on my first prom dress (bright blue)
for six orange peels dried in the
softest sun of summer
Will you take the smell of asphalt in
spring, steaming after rain
for six ripe plums waiting in
the basket on the porch?
I can give you my grandchild's shy smile
when I gave her a ballerina doll
but you must give me the sound of
oranges falling off the tree
with the slightest bit of wind added
There is a sprig of bougainvillea, very red
that jumps off the wall,
What will you give me for it?