For Patty Gates
I can see right through you
yet I still like what I see.
The pacific ocean at your knees
wagging its tongue like a labradoodle
one part drunken noodle, two
parts labor of love. You crocodile!
You forest spy and protective cove!
In the park, tonight, the woodwind blows
and I can see, upon the trunk of a maple,
a black squirrel and yonder
a pea-green sweater rides the final
heat wave of summer
like the spontaneous overflow
of a kinetic sculpture. What is it,
itself invisible, that fills such visions
with life. What holy fire?
What unstifleable need?
The holy fire of unstifleable need!