Dust like stars in the galaxy of this singular space
swirl and dance in the streak of window filtered light
this soupy universe swims with grace
and with effortless poise, reaches across vastness to
bring me into the womb of immediacy
where the red velvet moment is called home
like a mother calling the child in from neighborhood play
when the sun dips down beneath the cottonwood tree.
Ah, the cottonwood tree,
whose tufts would swirl and dance through wind
like summer snow
like a mothers knowing arms welcoming home
the grassy-kneed, mosquito-bit, bright-eyed child