May I recognize my hilly landscape
and not expect to live in the plain.
Know that I am the hills and ravines,
the sun-drenched fields and deep shadows,
gulleys, mustard fields, yellows,
veils of light that drape like silk slips,
brooding camisoles, mist from cigarettes,
palm hats, brilliant ideas, crestfallen spirits,
wilting, questioning, knowing not
to claim, wanting to want that armful
of pungent stems and flowers to toss,
not to hold.