He says

He says,
speak of…
…the yellow butterfly and the freshly spotted purple,
…the Golden Shower tree, pregnant with a windy May,
…the road that loses its feet to the mountain peak,
…and that wretched shack with its shocking momos,
…the fog that hugged us that day,
…and the blackbirds that eavesdropped.


He says,
speak of
…that song that rose from black & white
and brush-swept our willing faces;
…the two children we stole from our family albums,
and wore their faces and hopped all day.
…and that quiet walk by the highway,
and the snake swimming in the lake.


He says,
speak of,
...dreams and wishes and songs that came true

He says,
speak of
the miracles
when you were me and I were you.


But then…
miracles are for keeping,
so utterly ahead of speaking.