Bruce Henricksen

Lovely Reader,

I will say a poem to your eyes
someday when we are by a lake
and raindrops whisper secrets in the trees.

You will move me somewhere with your eyes,
perhaps a shore where small ships nod
and oceans breathe contentedly.

The poem will be summer wind in grass,
or sounds the insects make at night,
and it will walk the pathways of your eyes

To find the sea and board a ship
that journeys where the oceans roll
in eyes that make the poem whole.