Sometimes I dream that I’m a bird
And I’ve been cuddled by twilight.
An early riser mower runs
Along the stellar crickets tide.
The heavens buttonhole’s embroidered
Along the horizon by golden sting,
Around the sun – wax burning drop.
In this fine morn don’t wake me, please!
The air’s flavored by a cherry,
And burst in sweetness, and so tart.
The vanity’s unnecessary
And you know you are still alive. ...