for Donna
.
.
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.
.
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