Is the sun too bright
for the sky? Does it burn out
the azure like a moth trapped
in a light fixture till it dies?

Is the ocean too deep
for the land? Does it swallow
the green as it stands?

Is the nightingale too melodic
in her song? Singing all night
in the moonlight. Does her pitch throw
the switch on his wand?

Is the dandelion too strong
for his coiffured lawn? As he
cuts her down she rebounds, poking out
her head like a foot from under
the spread. He can’t shell her
like a prawn.