SIGNS

 

Don't mow your grass.

Don't shave your armpits.

Turn your lawn

into a vegetable patch,

your underarms

into bowers of musk rose.

As for that grotto

between your thighs,

let honeybees rejoice!

Of course we're only

speaking in signs,

how mystic

wool-shirted fools

speak about the landscape

of the soul,

so brown and golden,

musky and green,

where creatures seem

all sticky

with pollen,

glistening with sunbeams

in their sap.

All we're really trying
to say is 

that human love
grows naturally

into God.

Art: detail, Botticelli's Allegory of Spring