Puzzle yourself this breeze,
these willowed trees in all
their slow dance sway. Say
you’ll tumble barefoot with
me from here to mumbled
(come what) May.
Did the sky just sigh?
If I inhale slow, I’ll know these
things; that wayward cloud
caravan cottoning its way
across this indigo trail, first
a lamb, now a sailboat drifting
See that ebony pin-pricked blanket
pulled up, tucked deep? These twink
-led bards, shards of skyglass will
keep our secrets.
Let’s cobblestone some quiet
semblance of lullaby from the
lap of sea, this silken sky.
Written for Poetic Asides Day 8.