Ode to Cummings;

Lyric voices drip,
trip,
trip,
trippingly
as bubbles, joy filled pink and green,

Time does not pace nor yet
strip innocence from,
hard
held
hearts

As lispy tongues invoke
a cadence of catch and carry, light touch like feather pen,
caresses page and out
jumps

laughter and exuberance and
long
loved
hearts

word kisses to a generation lost to gazing navels