Urge

Let me touch your green, when you cry under the sun.

I’ve waited for the leaves to wear out of our wall

while centuries have gathered under your eyes.

Your wholeness makes my freedom some vacuum, 

bowls of blood, undisturbed. Mere ripples.

Will you let me intrude?  My safe thumb can run up your

shoulders, into your chest of fate, and wisdom.               

I’ll whisper to you in your sand, when your summer sleeps.