you’d not want a black soul like mine
which would suck the color from the
dandelion fields who breath only for sun.
and on the days when children’s laughter
sounds like a trainwreck approaching.

you’d sit and say “let there be nothing
but which i approve” and dig yourself
a hole somewhere out in the woods.
and in there it would be warm
even during the coldest hours
emanating enough heat for just you.