LICKING

I could highlight

ice-cream in late afternoon

sliding into a luminous

evening on the waterfront.

On Sundays. Eyeing people

strolling, chatter unrolling,

all that streaming over there.

Longing for staying

in the trust of a stare.

In the ever present

days gone by, the sun shining,

unreached and unreserved.

Licking, from mouth to mind,

settling each lick in the heart.

Sensing we could lick

all the way to the bone,

like through a flowers’ persistence

from stone to stone.

 

Like my licking master,

my dog under the table

now licking my bare feet

making me feel fully

earth to earth on my seat,

on the waves of this stage, still

and faring forward in spring heat.