TO THE FLORENCE I KNOW AND I DONT

She breathes the air for me.
She drinks the ocean---
When I am thirsty
She feels the gentle breeze
Sprouting leaves from my cactus.

She is the Nightingale I've known
In my Desert-life , so overgrown.

Still I don't know her ways
As do all humans in grace,
And grope through life
With a bag of reason---
Ignorant and unmindful
Of her beauty-season.

She said it is 'Spring'
It has to be---
The season least seen
And yet lots to see.

She's the Nightingale I've not known
In my Desert-life, so overgrown.