A sunflower maddened with light
Sheds the seeds of poems.
It always happens like this, standing on Columbus
somewhere near Jackson, Bay winds press me to find
the words to keep you walking, unsuspecting April,
with a saunter past City Lights.
With the sun setting, shadowed winds channel up alleys
of glass windows, and slice through our ambling. I pipe up
how ‘bout a book…? which sends your eyes glazing into freefall
with how ‘bout-a-nap?, Washington park, and then
I’m kinda thirsty, refreshing words not heard since
Columbus last October. And because you don’t read poetry
and I don’t drink beer, we slip into familiar Specs where I buy
the first round, before the 2nd at Vesuvio’s, after which you
escort me next door to my favorite book of poems .
Tara Linda ©2017