THIS IS A KISS
Poems by Lawrence Carradini

The one thing that I can not get anyone to understand
is why this voice keeps speaking.
It is not another voice. It is not
some disembodied poetic.
It is not.
It is all the things I saw
through a child's eye.
The little lives. The attraction of flowers.
The baby bird
in
or out of the egg.
The down on ones belly
things.
The older things
like barnacle fans
at the minuet. And kisses. And clear night
moons.