Here is the house I live in
imagine, listen, look, see
breathe in the fragrance of blossoms
and fruit trees
tall and green in the roofless central courtyard
under that tiny square of sky
visible from deep inside
the heart of a place
surrounded
by stiffly walled rooms
Mangos, orchids, jasmine, lime
these are the scents I inhale every morning
when I step into the courtyard
and look up at that small square of blue
where birds in flight pass high above
the rhythm of rising and falling wings
daring me
to scratch rhymes
by pressing the sharpness of my fingernail
into the soft flesh
of petals and leaves
even though I don’t know
how to write
Would they clap for me at those parties if they knew
about the funny shapes I invent
like a bird’s sharp little feet scratching shapes
on moist beach sand?
Would they clap if they knew that for me
each secret shape is seen and remembered
as my own private alphabet
of make-believe letters
and words?