Michael, Yes

Yes Michael daylight
Is for you the tiny flitting birds
Turn colors by light and air
They are there if you
Questioned
(not)
I can…
Yes,
Michael.

While we live in New Jersey Michael
All the Secret
Places of not-sun
And Wood
And mossy drapings yes,
Michael dark-blue and olive-tint
Constant-brown all
Assurance my darling
I
Took to the Pinelands as
Intended and yes
Michael. Yes.

Michael we are things between
The forest and the
Sun we are
About nigh and found
Of warmish still water insects
Painting the scratchy
Heat of Summer patches and
Drying
Grass, yes
Michael.

You
Are

Yes. I have
Yet to write a poem
To June only
Because it
Is not.
Yes, Michael. You are. Tell me when tracing the things that are
Light and cobwebs across your own mahogany reflection that you
Are everything
And anything but.

The jack pines are twisted from a long-ago fire.

Yes,
Michael.