cool cummings

“Do you believe in always,the wind
said to the rain
I am too busy with
my flowers to believe,the rain answered”
-e.e. cummings

But what of never, do you believe in never?
It never meant forever.
Wind shifts in moments, sunlight slanting through,
and down to the flowers which the rain grew,
winding through the same places,
touching them, softly, on the side
of the stomach of an instant,
after which we sat whimsically wondering
if the wind knew we were watching while it played its games,
waiting for the rain that came.

The rain came and made us soggy.
Waterlogged we were mussed.
Tempestuous perfervid always flowers believe!
Next to nothing sat the sun,
doing nothing, being warm.
We could shine a light on.
We could play a harp song.
In the wind that wonders,
In the sun that came,
In the flowers that will follow
and make love to the rain.

—

I am planning a revolution.
It involves pretty colors and sexy bodies.
More than that it entails the willing suspension of disbelief,
for the entirety of spring.
I dip my tongue into a bowl of ferocious.
Feathers, crystals, gypsy queens.
A few things.
Wings.