the wide-open sky festooned with fluffy pearls
and one relentless sun
with all the blue in the world.
butterflies at play
lilting to gibberish fiddles
in scarlet yellows
beating the softest breeze
into a pulp
of Time.

the underworld sings. over the din of our perpetual stammering.
we live where the Hope is sparse but hearty.
gluing our heels to our shadows
like misfit toys from a Loot Chest.
while eating all the orange
out of Fire.