i breathe deep and think of the pollen ive taken
squint at the crafted blue sky
no day was ever made better
as if the air knew what temperature my skin desired
not that i know, but every breeze brings goodness
the dandilions are pressing now, soon to conquer
perhaps waiting orders from the chick weeds
i exhale and feed the trees, we happily exchange gifts
plead with the horizon to keep the sun from setting
but i feel the moons jealousy, as if it were telling the sun its time was up
the staged entrance is well rehearsed, no glich in the exchange
and the act continues
the sky is bruised now, only bleeding at the seem
nothing appears desperate,
the ants have ceased marching.