He is cultivating faith in
the blaze of green grass
blasts upon our retinas.

I am (making due)
moving a bit too fast
for my chapel of caution.

There are castle rocks of
solitary confinement I chase
to slow the highway of my heart,
and evergreen ladders
reaching up to the sky
of my imagination.

The mind may make a
craggy mess of speed, and
yet there is a leaflet
of patience somewhere in
the glovebox of my essence.

Sara Fielder © May 2018