“Have you ever been loved? I bet you have been loved so much and so deeply that you have become blasé about how much grace it confers.
So let me remind you: To be loved is a privilege and prize equivalent to being born. If you’re smart, you pause regularly to bask in the astonishing knowledge that there are many people out there who care for you and want you to thrive and hold you in their thoughts with fondness.
Animals, too: You have been the recipient of their boundless affection. The spirits of allies who’ve left this world continue to send their tender regards, as well.
Do you “believe” in angels and other divine beings? Whether or not you do, there are hordes of them beaming their uncanny consecrations your way. You are awash in torrents of love.”
She is a sunflower-yellow
hourglass with a
center of nipple pink intensity
bouncing, twirling, burbling, squawking
like a Steller’s jay.
She is inside with Peter, Paul, and Mary,
multiplying three times infinity
in her rocking chair.
She is an apple, crisp and fresh,
the guitar singing melodies
sometimes jarring and jangling ears.
She’s a meandering stream of galaxies,
an ancient Redwood soul, not
fearing abandonment –
a kaleidoscope of wonder.
That brave little neck,
the stem of a sunflower;
your brain is blooming.
Your luscious curved cheek
is a small apple that begs
for tender kisses.
The tree sapling back
nourishes roots and branches;
may it grow mighty.
Hands touch but don’t clutch
like curious mice seeking
their fortune in cheese.