WHEN A POET LOOKS AT A WOMAN
He notices
how she talks
and finds how
she walks
is more revealing
than words
she counts on.
A whiff
of her scent
is worth more
than her reaction
to reading
a Tolstoy or
Proust novel.
When she says yes,
and you know she
means maybe,
you’re barking
up the wrong
pussy willow.
When you see
her face in a field
of luminescent
sunflowers
and I try to pluck
the very best one.
You can be sure
her color of love
matches mine
and we merge
effortlessly.