If

 

 

You toss me watercolor daisies,

when my hands would conjure you a garden

of blazing bouquets, if you hint just the least.

For one minute, if you’d care at all.

 

You sing me listless tunes you’ve worn,

when my fingers would line out such symphonies

of sounds never heard, if you join just the least.

For one minute, if you’d sing along.

 

You press crumpled paper into my fist,

when my purse bursts seams wide with gold-full,

of riches never seen, if you’d open just the least.

For one minute, if you’d only let go.

Ask me. I Dare You

Ask me. I dare you.

[But I forgot… ]

I soak color from the walls, brushing it into pictures, twisting it into wool afghans.

All these against leather sofas on wood floors.

Charged with sunlight from unveiled windows.

Smells of  home cooked food linger over an old sad body draped in beautiful clothing.

I walk every day, unless I dance wildly to whole-hearted red-blooded music.

Long tub baths go best with sweet-smelling oil.

And books.

Meaningful conversations with loved ones emanate laughter, tears and hugs.

A house full of children, music, and dance…  where all join in.

[can you hear it?]

And the first one to get there…

[wins]