Sinnocent Poem by D A Phinney

He's always busy naming things
But she likes to feel them
Wafting up inside her nose
Or hugging her with green intensity
And certainty that pokes between her toes
She likes to listen
To isolate the songs of water
Pouring through her ears
And to seek the darting trills
That scatter her wandering
The light washes her skin
With sky-warm newness
As her breath fills her
With being
And all of this-with no whispers-she finds bound up tight
In the color red
As she brings it, shining round and glad
A gift
That he may know what she feels