Tonight I will only give you flowers and baby, baby and flowers. Trust me on this.

Also a poem: Ross Gay, Sorrow Is Not My Name”
No matter the pull toward brink. No
matter the florid, deep sleep awaits.
There is a time for everything. Look,
just this morning a vulture
nodded his red, grizzled head at me,
and I looked at him, admiring
the sickle of his beak. 1/4

But look; my niece is running through a field
calling my name. My neighbor sings like an angel
and at the end of my block is a basketball court.
I remember. My color's green. I'm spring. 4/4

Then the wind kicked up, and,
after arranging that good suit of feathers he up and took off.
Just like that. And to boot,
there are, on this planet alone, something like 2 million naturally occurring sweet things, some with names so generous as to kick the steel from my knees 2/4