So thoughtful to the wind
You cross the street like a
Flower sprouting up through
The rubble of an ancient village;
Some sort of low to the ground
Purple and white creature, with
bold eyes.

And it was only early April
When the sky moved too
Across the desert and
Like a blanket on the edge
Of a bed, crumpled into
The purple, midnight stars
That sagged all night
Over reckless mountains.