The depth of winter
In a cold gaze from the sky
Is covered by fog's translucence
Wishing to fly with the yew trees

So, as the night brightly sparkles
Such water cannot compare to
Only be a mere reflection of its beauty
All that is alive is a free miracle

Woodpeckers sit on the clear earth
Ne'er on the floor of moonlight
As they sleep in weeping willows
Who cover them in tears to keep out the night

I am on Mackinac Island,
Lying down on a big white lawn chair
In front of the Grand Hotel.  
The faint scent of fudge
Lingers on the air so I can almost taste it,
And my hair is getting constantly blown
By the wind that flows among the
Chairs, grass, and music.  
The music comes from the direction of the water,
Where an old style jazz band has
Temporarily set up shop,
Creating gorgeous silhouettes
Against the orange and pink sunset sky.  
The purring of the clarinet
Bounces off of me like the waves are
Bouncing on shore,
But even lighter than that,
Even lighter than the
Wings of the seagull trailing overhead.  
The clarinet drops in and out of sync
With the waves as the silhouettes start to
Bounce to the music.  
A distant bike bell dings,
But it matches so harmoniously
With the music that I don't notice it.  
Waves, bike, clarinet.  
Waves, bike, clarinet.  
A constant cycle interrupted only by
The saxophone and drums occasionally.  
Waves, bike, clarinet.  
The sun is set.  
Silhouettes turn to shadows.  
Waves, bike, clarinet.  
Waves, bike.  
Waves.

Meaningless

A world to me

Contagious

To the world it can be

Spread

At your own risk

Happiness  or none

To the world as it believes