The sun kisses what it loves
And leaves the rest to shadow:
The open rose sharing its fragrance and pollen
More than the tightly curled bud,
The leaves of trees more than their rough trunks,
The roofs of houses more than their portals,
Bell towers more than the stone plaza below,
Laundry hung out to dry
Shaking a clean scent into gusts of wind
More than the neatly folded clothes in drawers.
Your upturned face more than the pockets of your trousers.
written November 2009