Emily Blue

Little Emily Blue,
Who stood a bit below four-foot two,
Who sang when she was wet,
And kept her dolls in the fireplace flue;
Who disliked rice and sometimes jam,
Who cried, “No fair!” if you held her hand,
Sailed for France with the Queen of Spain,
By way of Cape Horn with her spotted Great Dane—
Arrived unfed and demanded tea,
Was given pizza and clapped with glee,
Then went to bed stark naked,
Warmed by the sunset and thoughts of you and me.

What I Meant To Say

I have to say it all,
Before it is too late.
I have to say it all—
I hear the closing of the gate.

I have to say it right,
Or it will vanish from your heart.
I have to say it now,
Before the thunder starts.

I have to say it lovely,
To vault your watchful mind,
I have to say it open,
To leave the fear behind.

But I have to say it short,
Or it will drown in parenthesis,
Strangled by consideration,
Washed out to modified seas.

But my time’s worn down,
And still I’m rooted, where I first began.
So much to say
To close the book
On what I meant today.

I meant to tell you about the tree
Bare like an animal’s bone,
And how I had to turn away
When I saw you on the phone.
And how that tune reminds me
Of a snapping fire,
And how the night can trap me
In conjecture like barbed wire.

And how the moon neglects to rise,
And how my spoons are slim neckties,
And how dogs whistle when you bark,
How the night’s on fire, the morning dark—
But I see the day is turning blue
And I think I feel something to do,
So I’ll end it here where all life starts true:
I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.