What’s going on? Your phone rings and rings.
No answering response from anything brings
any trace of you to us. What new gorgeous things
in you are coming true? Are you warm as a scone,
fresh baked in an oven of puffin-hewn stone?
What have you done? Simply stayed home alone?
Happy about it, no doubt. But your impatient fans
erupt in a rout, not having heard over spans
of silence a sigh, a laugh or word. Whose plans –
devil-vandals’, as wily and flaming as wicks
in candles – swallow you? I need a bella Donna fix.
What do you conjure, what do you feel? What tricks
do you intend? Can’t we get at least a little view?
Is some auspicious being now entraining you –
preparing us for something harrowingly true? –
yet, being you, with the lightness of a dove –
are you a bird below – craving to explore above?
Whatever’s going on in you we know is full of love.
Come on! Spell it out! Flash a Mona Lisa smile!
Let us see you run toward a crimson sun a half a mile,
all dressed up. Let us bother you again for just a while.