Can we please speak again of other things, like
How the delicate blossoms of the almond trees always remind you of my favourite Van Gogh, or
How the brave lupines have already returned
Painting the drowsy Jerusalem hills in purple?
Do you remember, my love, that soon the markets will be filled with baskets of dark, shiny cherries
(Your other favourite reason for stained fingertips, remember?)
Would you tell me how pretty I look in my
Old yellow sundress
Eventhough I've pulled it, wrinkled
From the bottom of the clothes pile in the corner,
How you've missed my shoulders in sunlight
Can we please just speak of
Something soft for a moment
I know well how our world is burning
But must we constantly sit by in its
Scorching heat?
Others will surely watch it. Meanwhile, my love, look up
The harsh, winter light has already changed her slant.
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