Free

I keep periodic visions of you,

tip-toeing, girlishly,

vestally sexy, severely cute,

through a sunny patch of collard greens,

picking fruit,

two daisies joking in your hair,

spinning,

flinging blackberries in the air.

You dance and you dance,

so oddly beautiful in an evening gown,

flowing, blue silk

rolling over rich brown,

something deeper lovely at play,

like tears down the smiling cheek,

of an unbound slave.