Wimbly toed the Borrogoves

Murph roil smurf
I am adroif
Sneaker rubber drags on sidewalks
unsmooth, with
jilted valleys, and trip rocks.
that I slowly, climb over.
slog. she steps on tar, soft goo.
Gubler slopes the hill.
Its only cannelf, is making
me, want to fall. down. and. roll.
Straight lines are delftly.
heavy feet. drag step. To home.

There is a friend
I ached to talk to.
If I could pick up the phone
and dial the numbers at her side.
The deep questions have long since faded;
Now conversation I seek is casual, friendly.
I want to ask questions about cooking,
and boys and relationships.
And her past.
I seek the advice and banter
common to my youth
but treasured non the same.
Sometimes I close my eyes
And imagine a talk with her,
But she never replies
the picture is quickly fading.

I dream about the times when I was with her.
Just close my eyes and she is there.
We played cats cradle, with elastic string.
Over and over, it never grew old.
Then car games like Uno,
just the two of us.
I won. No you won. Now I won. You won again.
Run races at bedtime. Then hugs and
a kiss.
After one more story, from me.
Because I can't stop talking to you.
Hug me hold me squeeze me tight.
I never knew she would leave one morning.

The night dreams are different.
I am confused and angry
because the dead should not approach me
This is what I yell at her.
But when I awake
I wish we had gone back to playing.

I rode through a field of butterflies!
With my bike I passed them.
Startled, they alighted behind me
buttering the air with their wings
They parried and thrusted, concentricly
twirling around each other.
I was entranced in the middle of them.
Dipping and extending, sailing right, then swerving left.
Mementarily I was given a still display from a tree
Of wings more detailed than the grandest painting.
Then aloft again to play.
Like the flies I have so haphazardly brushed away
They flew. Without pattern or plan.
But this butterfly brigade, so fragile in my space
is the creators ballet bug, a papenstance* of grace.
four, seven, nine.
They lined up before me,
all facing Northeast.
eighteen buttefly eyes awaiting oration.
With no words from the learned biped
they all allighted.
All but one. Lined up center.
We surveyed eachother
the insect and I. And then
returned to play.

*Papenstance: a purposeful accident

I know this is a rip-off of a Norah Jones song

Come away with me
You walk on crowded paths.
Come away with me
into this starlit night.
Come away with me
into my arms of trust.
Oh won't you please, come away.

Come away with me
the peaked mountains call,
a warm breeze on my face.
Come away with me
Oh won't you please, come away.

I see the city lights
and I wish you would
come away with me today
Oh please come away

We would walk amid the sky
and roll in fields of clouds.
For beauty I can see
If won't you please
come away with me.

Camping

Oh beautiful words
to what heights you can reach
fly the trapeze acts
but you will never describe
what my eyes awe subscribe.
Details of sunlight
piercing upon minature bees
carrousing wild violet blooms.
The meadow before me
glows a pallete of green waves.
Two sister aspen trees
have alabaster bark
and emerald diamond disk leaves
which are translucent and still.
Yet everything is in motion
you can see it in the creek
in the energy of the sky
the shadows, the lights, the insects.
These blasphemous words
do not akwardly reach
the beauty of creation.