You smile like a million
sunrises
rising from the pit
of a pounding bosom
where sprout flowers
with petals flaming—
cool as ice;
rose, lilac, gold, and white.
As the glimmer in your teeth
and the tingle in your voice.
You sing like a thousand
fields of tulips
in spring;
easy as the touch of the breeze
on a string.
And I, watching
from the foot of the hills,
listen.
For but a moment,
all is real.
A Thousand Fields of Tulips
October 2, 2021
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