Willing to hold and willing to remain empty
I am a cup with expressive lip and handle
I am held in the hands of a lover when warm
I can be a lullaby blowing into a storm.
Call for a gypsy woman and I will appear
I am a moon on the move and changing
all the other denizens of both the skies
pay me in silver and I read their eyes.
I am a cow grazing in the pasture of words
I chew thrice and make milk of grass
I do not prance or hide or even sway
but studiously edit a highly versed day.
Distant from anywhere with a name on a sign
I am one of those roads like an afterthought
connecting two highways with a mountain view
townlessly waiting for history to come true.
I am the water in the hose
the eyeball of a good guess
I am what one girl chose
her toy, her puppy, her rose.