Rachael exhaled into a big round symbol
of rebirth, and when our egg skips
across the green grass of the park,
and when evening falls like candy,
and when the blood veins
in our drunken faces start to pop
like cascarones, Spring begins
and our later-ons and remember-whens
become right now.

You were the luckiest
dirty green floor
on Easter Sunday
in the world
when she walked by
on Sunday. Sunday
checked in white
and green, wooden
heels clicking, and
(where is my head?)
at the top of the stairs:
one last party, and
goodnight.

My Love Is Like The Springtime

My love is like a freight train baby.
Ride it so slow.

My love is like a brick wall baby.
Come bang yourself up against it.

My love is like the subway baby.
It don't always run the way it should.

My love is like the springtime baby.
Red flowers poppin' up all over the place.

My love is like the export soda crackers baby.
100% vegetable oil.

My love is like a three-hundred pound heavyweight boxer baby.

It's gettin' all up inside your face.