I CELEBRATE MYSELF

Abstract

The smoke of my own breath, Echos, ripples, and buzzed whispers . . . . loveroot, silkthread, crotch and vine, My respiration and inspiration . . . . the beating of my heart . . . . the passing of blood and air through my lungs, The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and darkcolored searocks, and of hay in the barn, The sound of the belched words of my voice . . . . words loosed to the eddies of the wind, A few light kisses . . . . a few embraces . . . . a reaching around of arms, The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag, The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hillsides, The feeling of health . . . . the full-noon trill . . . . the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun.