For all lovers
are Noah's children
We gather
what we cannot love
but can only tame
keep ours
in hutches fancied
with slender stroking fingers
until the world
has lost the wetness
our dreams bring forth
We unchain
that which can fly --
the sphere
cannot be this small
for even the shortest flight
and in this ark
where we collect
like unfeathered divinity
we can only wait
for the return
of wings
and the body
that haunts us
in search of dryness
and land
As children of Noah,
we stay with fronds
brought home
to hope for leafing
to come out
when the whiteness
of plumage
has not returned
telling us
of the wetness
that had gone
and the blossoming
of newly-washed land
