her tongue danced like the swaying maple, ideas transforming to light, a monarch pushing its iridescent chest into tomorrow.
it is enough to soften a man's heart.
the song, unheard from time to time (the dark clouds plugging my ears as crows huddle on fraying, telephone wire), echoed as the stone at the base of the waterfall does-
(she isΒ untouched by water or human intervention) .
it is the warm recipe known by heart, the compress for a broken foot, the wind chime surrendering pre-determined agendas to Spring's affirmative intuition.