The cotton wool clouds
Glued at random
In a giant blue
Colouring book
Are real
And cause me to breathe
Deeply for the first
Time today.
The greenwood
With it's shadows
That question the rights
Of leaves to answer
And flowers, freshly
Painted this morning
By the supreme artist
Who begs us to, who
Dares us not to
Notice them
And the seed,
Airborne at last
Parachuting into
My hand
Are all real,
But I am not.