In the Tall Garden where Wisteria propagates
a thousand arrows of soft in a torrent of breeze
you can listen to the world nosedive into peace
and swear to god you love it.
these are the perks of a perfect thing.
woodpecker pecking his noggin in the morning fog
lifting from a plane of Eden as lazily as maple
a choir of underbrush phantoms, chirping indiscreetly
as the sun rises to her perch in the ***** of heaven
as Blue conquers the night and chickadees hasten worms
to the Otherside, with black eyes as innocent
as snow.