YOU ARE A DOOR FOR ME

You are a door for me where I lean in moonlight

listening for a voice made of water.

A voice can be an oak leaf floating down the irrigation ditch

a green hand with fingers spread wide trying to take hold

of the moon.

The full moon can be held entirely in a round spoonful of water

or in the right eye of a monkey or in a drop of blood.

But tonight the moon is in our cherry tree full and ripe

and the voice I listen for is yours

come home to me.

.

.

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