On the sly

 

My love, you are cheerful

like the puddles overflowing with rain

of spring

with their little leaf-green

frogs.

When you are serious, you say,

what you most wish for is to laugh.

 

And I imagine that sun

that looks out smiling over

the March clouds

to see what goes on

below.

 

And I imagine the effort

of the land to look serious

in winter

and the laughter of summer.

 

And I imagine you

confusing the laugh by the iridescent

twists and turns

of your sparkling gaze

for it does not throw its ivory jet

to the very reliable air of your so serious appearance,

your hands behind your back like a diligent schoolgirl.

 

 

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