I asked you to turn me into a dove,
but to be honest,
I don’t remember what you said,
although I think I remember
a chuckle, or maybe it was a guffaw.

I asked you to turn me into a bell,
and your look said,
Who is going to pull its rope
one last time? “Not me,
it doesn’t work that way.”

“Aw, come on,” I begged you.
“Dress me in my best blue suit,
the growing season is over
but the ground is still soft;
the time seems ripe to me!”

This was the instant
you slipped me your difficult
mercy. Whispering,  
“Leaf by leaf will rise the day
darkened now but golden.”