carry me home,
and sound to me the doorbells of missteps and longings.
whose longing was to grow tall enough to touch sky
with spindling limbs
awing God with puritanic sensuality
and to show roots the might of an upward glance,
and children scramble to play once more
before the axe let loose.
trick the doorbell
treat the taste of spindling childhood.
My ma and pa spoke this on their wedding day.
HAD I the heavens’ embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half light, I would spread the cloths under your feet:But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.