Pencil Me In

Holland windmill chimes
Tulips bloom in lazy canals
Bicycle for two.

So -- one day I'll ask you and your girls -- I'll ask at the eleventh hour from inside a gabled canal house, I'll ask extempore from my swinging pleas, I'll ask from sitting trees, I'll ask under alluvial suns and before consenting gods, I'll ask for a ready yes! Let's go dutch, to Holland under Baroque skies, to ride bicycles w/ silver carillons and criss-crossed baskets, in and around the quay. Straw baskets holding Wagenaar's motifs and Delftware tiles. We'll go to outdoor cheese markets and windmill gardens. And we'll eat behind cul-de-sac windows and we'll play w/ our diamonds as we talk subliterate-ly about the nuances of Adriaen Coorte's stillness at the Rijksmuseum. We'll pick tulips from our hot chocolate cups and drop them from the balconies of brown cafes. Or we could find a mash pot or waffles at the Cafe Americain. Or chocolate sprinkles on toast, if you delight. But we'd have to insist on wooden bowls and Vermeer's light.

And one day you may actually consider it. Come on, you can't deprive me of replacing my cracked tile, the one I dropped inside a canary yellow clog. Winter break, one can skate on the frozen avenues or Summer break, one can smell arrays of flowers while wearing blindfolds. I could simply follow you and the girls, while documenting on posterity's arm. I'll stall the movement of a golden morning while you circle yes or no.