Coming To Come, Because She Can Poem by James McLain

Come, come through eyes that see,
what they've seen sometimes if what
you saw
you did not see, the past before.

Through the waves of cloud's they part as you smile,
clinging to that small branch,
that floated up to here where you are.

Green every size as each side looks elsewhere,
to the spot one can see to the sea
the tip of the thorn coming up through the
bud of the rose, two open lips
that have
circled the tip of the top of the world.

Her name when it's said what they've said,
yes in the winter
of whatever you saw and what they've always,
seen as they do.
Come to the front of the line,
unable to stop very long because of the way
that you feel!