Inducements
We judge it high time for your own shadow.
You who were all lizard eyes and trout bones
have zeppelined out, fat as a zoo sparrow,
and managed to open the umbrella
your mother inadvertently swallowed.
Sweet jumpy thing of water, come ashore.
The earth has cooled; the dinosaurs are gone
mostly. The crocuses have burst open
with the arms of vaudeville actors vying
for their share of spotlight and applause.
Your furniture awaits largely assembled
among antediluvian stacks of diapers,
and I’ve learned two new chords on the ukulele
Tonight the thunder you hear rumbles a prelude.
The house darkens, grows increasingly pink.
I sweep the floor with Art Blakey on the stereo
playing what will be our song—Come Rain or Come Shine.
I sweep and sweep; he brushes the snare drum
softer and softer . . .
(this is where you come in.)
