On Ne Badine Pas Avec l'Amour.......

My Springtime Boots and Pearls:My Barefoot Summer Hills and Fields

enthralled Summer is here.Green trees..blue sky. Robins flying,peep-toads singing,flowers growing.  Balmy window screen breezes… birdsongs and sweet dreams of promise. April showers in June. Vicarige vampyre graves and angel climbing towers..My long-gone grandfather’s birthday.  Springtime in Pomfret and Rice City.Sterling Hill….fields and lakes and ponds and forests. Highground and hollow turning from their gray and brown animal-fur coat to rolling light greens and yellow. Strolls. The fabled old man in the north wind relinquishing, giving a bright face to the clouds and sand of a hill watch beach..the female languid luxury of the southwest breeze. Wind,sky,sea and sand come alive…a spring dream in a cat’s eye. Brown Earth born again. Exeter and Canterbury. My eyes to the horizon as I waunder these ancient fields and hills in my boots and pearls and long black skirts…the smiles of lost love in the patterns of my hemline.The one in my rooftop eyes.The boy with the warm Portuguese heart became the Man who took me home.The dream of love as warm as the soul of my womb…my unbourne star,the colour of sweat..memory centuries old that spills from this mouth,these eyes,this heart and weaves a lovespell of timeless design,native-winged of a fashioned mind,slipping this dark kiss half-naked through rhyme and this blue note of mine in a waterfall yearn for the spring of lustcrime. I am. Daughter of the wind,homeless Indian.