A Celebration

A celebration or a forecast
of more than a drubbing. The day
is set, and still we fan out
as we approach what seems to be a still area.
The petunias all have sticky picks
and tar labor, for real. Some of the roses
still smell good though, even as
we walk through the garden at night.
We smile knowing their fragrance is
slap happy and musical. I want to
be in a musical with you, a triple threat
of down home country loving and absolute mystery.
That sort of thing, and more birds.
Please, more birds. I want the sky to be full of them.
I want them to be above us, all spangled
and glorious and then, I want sleep,
a sleep so subtle and precise
that it makes us brand new. Please?