Late May

Once, I was a human cannonball
inside my own head,
that was before I met you.
Now I know my wings are
closer to my heart.
These days,
my energy rustles
through the thick clumps
of new leaves fifty feet up in trees.

Now I go where bees go, where birds go,
even to where the blue bowl of the sky
holds these soft white clouds of May.

Come with me my love,
up into the air.
The crows are plaguing a red-tailed hawk,
the wrens are back in the birdhouse, yelling.
God's green brush is scrubbing
all of history clean.

Come, let's rustle, ramble, sing,
settle in some high mountain field,
flit like butterflies,
drink a little rain together.