Jude and I
wave to the new moon
curled right up like one gold hair
on the bald-head sandhill.
Mama peeps out the window and smiles.
She thinks
I am playing with myself...
Run, Jude, run with the wind--
but hold my hand tight
or the wind,
looking for some one to play with,
will take me away from you!
Wind with no one to play with
cooees the orange-trees--
stay-at-home orange trees,
have to nurse oranges,
greeny-gold.
Wind shouts to the grass--
run-away-grass
tugs at its roots,
but the earth holds tight
and the grass falls down
and wind boos over it.
Wind whistles the bees--
bees too busy
with taking home stuff out of flowers
won't look back--
bees always going somewhere.
Only Jude and I--
heads over shoulders