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a poem for you

if poetry is frivolous
it could be because
it's a tease, a delayed flight
lighter than the spring wind,
not down to earth, unreliable

but if love is frivolous,
it could be because
one can love poetry, the runway,
the language of the everyday,
or the view from the window
of our lot from the sky

from a small plane coming home,
circling,
on a sunny day above our trees
i wrote poetry on a small bag
in the pocket of a crowded seat,
hidden and abandoned during landing

but the poetry was only a shadow
in the light of your welcome,
your loving patience,
and a gentle swing by the flowers
after many rough landings,
dark roadsides, a long trip home

the poetry is history,
the bag hidden and empty,
or found by the attendant, but
those words long forgotten,
though new ones are blooming even now

and our love is those flowers waiting
in turns, with the rhythm
of seasons unfolding
not frivolous or temporary,
but patient and perennial,

and opening to show you
we are where we belong,
even if you didn't see us,
we were waiting for that moment
in the warm morning sun

tl, 6-7-04