Poem for to bird

Before thought,
My action sprung
Through earth—
Hello yellow tulip,
Bird of terrible speed
& the reach for it
Miss
& fragments of the empty air-
The multi-colored fury.
I open my palm for to bird
Revealing letters from Ecuador,
Perhaps a wooden plank.

Sure, I was born with a love
Of (wine) wet evening mouths,
However, I have never aged.
I only own my fingers and toes
To count
My polar white exposures
Developing oil black ink.
More than the home I made
From tangerine leaves
(Yes its snowing in New England
& darlin’ I love you, & darlin’ I love you)
I still know the moon is a woman
& I will always return to bathe
Breathing like words.