She kept bed-side by me all along,
Her prayer like a flower behind my ear,
Asleep, I think I hear the petals fall.

The soul of July is like a song
one that holds each breath
as we count from one to ten
the easy skips make a sound

Goodbye June, a lost memory
a pinched clouded remedy
where the winter breeze chills
in icicles blocked by webs

As the night lifts the day
the light sinks in strive
and all the rife of the unintended
sinks in the depths of the ocean

As the day paves to the known
posing so brightly as a knight
soaring to fly through the clouds
to straws of the unknown exposure

In the summer evening
Crowds recede
Tides rise
A crescent moon hangs on a branch

A pair of mandarin ducks
Take off from the ground at the same time
One after the other
Flying towards the lake at dusk
Rippling the calm lake

Swans slide towards the center of the lake
Dancing in a beautiful waltz
Willow beats with the rhythm
Breezes send the scent of flowers

The night opens the curtain
with all little stars shining upon
Cheer for all holy livings
The calm lake lets the elves rise and fall
Spin

haven’t reckon’d that Earth
and I will be entwined/entombed
in each other’s arms, until such time,
one of us or both, will be reduced
to cosmic dust, our pride, our poems,
will be equally unimportant and irrelevant,
I reckon.

The breathtaking wonders of the universe
Orgasmically explode:
Trillions of stars,
Blindingly bright
With black light.

Black?
Yes, as we can see
But a glimpse
Of their light.
So without US,
All is black
And might as well
Not exist.

We are Vital.
With Us at least
Some light is seen
And admired.
The wonders of our world
And sky
Are acknowledged
And felt
And thought about.

Yet who are “We”?
We are all sentient beings –
Not just humans:
All living things with brains
From ants to whales.

It’s worth remembering that.

Paul Butters

© PB 25\6\2020.