Poetry

Poetry
which sits,
on the lips of flowers,
on the tongue of a hummingbird.
Poetry
which wanders,
through a field of yellow dresses,
through a forest of tangled hair.
Poetry
which slips,
between drunken pages,
between the sheets of a baby's cradle.
Poetry
which calls,
through a haze of anger,
to a lover's sleeping ears.
And poetry
which falls,
through the cracks of the city,
through the window of a man,
who sleeps, eyes open.
and finally
falls from the mouth, 
of a child left, waking.