Raindrops

Raindrops

Raindrops on the lilies,
Moving as slowly
As your hand on my thigh.
The leaves are old velvet,
Cut and cut again and tied to the branches.
The sky is repurposed here,
For rooftops and frames,
Like old timber
Erected far above the world.
I have the grass for shoes
And the breaking open
Of who I am
Where the points and corners
Of my steady lines
Meet yours.
Fill me with colour,
Like an ink spill,
Like a paint splash,
Like an old friend standing in a doorway.
Your hat made not for anything
But the stand beside this table.
I am a piano; my curves and silence
Awaiting music.
My keys
Pick locks to places
I have never gone to.
The rain still moves
And me with it,
The only noise
Collected on the air,
In prim bouquets and ragged bunches.
Traffic a steady bass, the planes can whine over
While the drums of the footsteps
Open their buds
For lives to slip into.
Hold me very still
So the movement of the earth
Is how I turn
From here to there.
From this to something more.

Beautiful

Beautiful

Lilypads

Lilypads