on a side shelf he’s exposed with the endowment of a child hands clasped above a bald head bearing see-through eyes standing on one leg...

when I pay homage to the broad leaves of tall trees in a light breeze   it’s a drowsy scheme to hope they stay on a hot day in a summer...

we’re losing the dance of powdered wings   nectar drunk through a straw   the most fragile breaths to ever create wonder   butterflies...