Finally

What will I finally be
                                         for you?
What will you finally be
for this yoyo heart up all night bubbling cauldron of mine that
wants to know before
the cows come home and
Saturdays are dedicated to you
or wanderdays when
                                      far below the clouds of Serpentine
a lonely figure sits by the swan lake to be a him
to her?

It’s her lure
that oscillates in him

sitting by the hymn of swans
. . . and the water that reflects the bow-tie
unwed net veils flailing
below the weathercock
the floating paper plates,
flapping tissues . . .

sparrow smiles             at heart                     butterflies
wonder clouds                             funnel up the funerals
flying hearses                            like black swans
Wingspans that fade in       the span of wind . . .
what
   the blue playing field of cottonwool clouds
   will I finally be
for you?

FINALLY