In Gods Colosseum imagination was my playmate.
The eyes could almost eat the green things
taking their own individual tour of life.
Slowly, Slowly,
spaciousness sprung and it was venous.

Perfectly petaled perennials ping,
oxygen and nitrogen saturated natures blood to blueberry,
lawnmowers grazed, neighbors swept wicker welcome mats,
inviting old chips of skin to molt off and
birth gratitude into the mind~
to forge the sun into our souls as bright as bullion.

Are we not rich in symbiosis? Thankful for our machinery?
Arms, legs, eyes, olfaction~
a voice saying these things belong to you,
a voice skipping over the one asking
what else there is that there could be.

Sara Fielder © May 2020