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.