Dotted brush strokes
fill the air,
arresting me

All I do is stare,
yearning to be
on higher ground
Yet all I have is concrete

I walk to where
grass meets the worm
and look up at the s.weeping sky
delicate golden light facing me

The variegated rose catches my eye,
Yet escapes my lenses...
capturing mulberries instead
Mosquitoes feed upon me
and I let them

"Revel in this", my soul says
"It's been too long since you last
saved moments for your spirit."

sometimes
It is good to just be
like the mullberry

To darken as it ripens,
to fall,
possibly leaving stains
Yet can also feed the earth,
to grow...
then reach upwards
to touch
those brush-stroked clouds.