An-Mochi

Perhaps I am the bud of the white lily That never will bloom. But then, how is it certain That my lily is white? Perhaps I am the bud of the orange lily In a field of the whitest silk. Or, afloat in a sea of orchids My vermillion wings, a beacon An island. Perhaps I am the bud of a black lily In a field of all the hues. Perhaps I am the blossom of the white lily In a field of the same. My skirts will unfold just the same My soft green slip unravel just the same My cool yellow legs warm in the sun To attract the honeybees to my sweet nectar. Perhaps I am the frog, emerging damp and cool From the bud of a lily Gla

A good idea spreads like         a family name. One day, it will pack up and         through Carbon or India Embark from the cerebral port of its origin and venture away Out into the world to make its fortune          all its worldly possessions         what it can carry in its bindle.                                 &#

     Maria is my Best Friend. I told her so back when we danced ballet, back when I had time in the afternoons on Wednesday for play and dance and gymnastics. The last, I quit because I did it year after year and couldn't even bridge down by myself. But I always liked the trampoline; and Maria had one so when we play I always vote for her house, the house with the blue siding and the spiders on the porch and no flooring around the cluttered dining room table and more animals than I have fingers.     And dresses. Maria has a glorious pink mess of lace and satin that is much too big for both of us, but s