To Be A Truthful Poem

when a poem isn’t about summer it must be truthful to say so,
because when our knees have spoken about seasons and a promise to sail
a paper boat in that riverine route bright after monsoon,
sculpt cobalt words and leaves,
especially leaves now become our eyes as sun diversifies into maps,
stupor of discoveries, of elephants in coconut island, of lotophagi,
of Ez caged in the iron bars of cantos, he sings,
‘a man who has lived under bars will not keep a caged animal’
our nose grows into nodules burying cloying smell of earth trapped in our lungs,
fears become marsh of delimbed words,
we unentangle each leg under sun holding up reins,
patience my love,
on this edge of clouds above rain forest,
when we shake our dreams of Earth made of leaves,
golden orioles fly out high
we plant green shoots of our promises in kingdom of Neptune
gather harvest of summers
so that no child ever goes to sleep hungry