Magician’s Scarf

Who each woman is

Does she smell like lavender fields

More worthy of obsession with each passing Day

Why the fabric of her dress upon her skin causes men to sing?

The Earth springs forth, as I imagine, musical notes with her every step. Yes.

Such passion must she follow, as to leave us inspired

Her smile draws from an endless-deep joy well

Words from her soul have him come hither, a pulling of magician’s scarf

Impart

Give me, gift me your assignment now that you are gone, for I was to each day greet your wrinkles, your papers: My touch, the unsugar-coated ink atop your laugh lines, your copy lines…my voice, an unedited reporting of your happiness, your joy.