She Inspects My Moonsmile

She’s observing the perspective of the sidewalk
to my sideways moonsmile. She’s got
alien pigtails and honorable horn rims.
She’s wearing drug counter perfume
and lavender jellies.
She’s drinking plum green tea.
She’s plumbed the depths of her heart.
She’s found the inner fountain.

She’s observing sidereal time.
She’s counting on the losses.
She’s wearing a fedora.
She’s not from Kansas.

This machine is not a war machine.
She is not a machine.
She is wonderfully and marvelously made.
This human is not programmed to self-destruct.
This human will not drown.
This human is not alone.
This human loves smiling.
This human loves walking with other humans.

These humans.
Oh, these humans, and their fountains.
Oh, these humans, and their infinite hearts.
Oh, these marvelous humans
who shine light in the darkness.

These humans will surround fascism
and convince it to surrender.
These humans will tempt hatred
to love itself to understanding.

She knows her wounds.
She can count her wounds.
She can love her wounds.
Her wounds teach her, night by night.

She climbs my moonsmile.
She paints my eyes.
She smoothes my forehead.
She parts my tender hair.
She practices patience at my earlobes.
She opens the secret spring
which feeds the fountain of my heart.