One day I would like to go down on one knee,
Pull out a ring, and ask the wind to marry me.
Watch it say no, then go.
One day there will be a boy. I would like
not to be so horny. I would take them
for a swim to watch them go dark dipping.
One day, for the lack of a better line,
I will go down deep on the valley
and comb my hands through the loam,
hoping for the outburst of a spring.
One day -- wearying of bright light
and rollicking breezes, of the sky,
its varied inhabitants,
the many placid faces of water --
I will have to tread,
gingerly down roughened paths,
I will have to grab the poet
by the scruff of his neck,
and tell him to come home[.]
[, damn it.]