Dagwood spoiled by the sun on the outskirts of the meadow.
Tremulous reeds torqued in the bumble wind with rods of pollen
lilting into oblivion on a warm gust of meandering Spring.
Towers of Sky mount the hillocks of the world and daisies run.
I see regal turmoil and jubilant hemorrhage of Grace.
so many owls with wide eyes and earthworms dreaming of Mars…
You can almost be
as fragile
as a gnat of
Time.

And You Are.