you all have such beautiful minds,

you all have such beautiful minds,
as flowers fold over each other,
from the distance of perspective,
at one with golden rivulets flowing,
blooming through you like a sun,
setting—but, your manners are so,
so obsolete: I freeze, I burn, I cry,
I die when you kill me with all these tries—

but o how I still tell myself “she’d know”
when something or anything confounds—

“I found”, she’d say, “something for you”—
and so for her—what could you ask of me
more—that I would never hesitate to do—love
you: so who are you; who am I to true—
over mountains and rivers, say—
so that you either way shine bright—