After Walt Whitman

I stand there looking at you, and you, and you
Long and long through this open window. My God!
Your feathers light as a whisper over fences and limbs.
Your face without lashes or mouth. I privately take it in
And my heart flutters standing in awe of yellow
Sun kisses bright in your throat. A fluency of feet
A supple verse that makes me grin. This is my poem.
A darling shadow of weightless wonders flowing soft,
So soft that it should rival your little cotton head.

“Stop and smell the roses.”



  1. Love this, Angie! You evoked the bright-eyed, wispy-haired gent with just a few carefully chosen verses.

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