I want to memorize your face

the way it looks the moment

you tell me how the morning glories

have pushed through the earth

in that corner of the garden

where we walk in the morning.


I want to capture it, a picture,

hold it up for all to see

like a birthday balloon on a crimson ribbon

or a mirror I can step into.


It will be mine, your face

not to imply ownership, never that

but head-flung-back


jump-for-joy mine

and Iím free to fly to the light

that illuminates your face, your eyes.











All the Unpretentious Words

Text Box: Linda Crosfield

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