the reason why some of us
we cannot possibly hope
the writing of dialogue. poems are about how everythingsmearsintoeverythingelse
how onething islike another.
forgive me if i was never one for smalltalk or bigtalk
or anyother kind of talk. moon dances, sky songs,
inspired by song sparrows in early spring
and the small budding clusters of pinkcreme and crocus purples
who do not announce with peoplevoice but speak in color and combination
as does poetry
this is the dialogue of nature then, how even when the sky is leaden:
the deep purple stripes of crocus low down
close to the snuffering sniffering dognose.
senses opening one to another, interbeing.
that’s a different kind of dialog, i suppose.