I started several things today,
but there was a problem
(or two, or three).
I’m a shiny object girl, a swirl
of paint and chalk and heart-felt talk
(no time for silly exchanges of how’s the weather? here.)
I kind of want to know your soul. I’ve been known
to wander off after a dandelion kite fluff,
a tiny pig-tailed child,
a blue morph
-oh, butterfly that sang me something soft
with her chatty wings.
Here’s the thing:
the world is full of lovely. The sky is yawning
a particular shade of blue, and me?
I’m timing breaths by leaf-furled breeze.
I’m asking trees to tell me their secrets
(sometimes you have to bribe them with cake.)
Take my advice,
take time for fussy flower faces,
and traces of song that might hum
your soul into a secondary shape.
Drape yourself in tiny sprackly things,
and sing something silly. The world will wait.
Meanwhile, oh, my soul,
we’re cloudy with a chance of
laughter in the face of everything:
this pup, that moon,
Prompted by Poetic Asides.