Into this blue promise I go sailing
with my arms outstretched in welcome
Into this soft green light I am remade
my heart quite full but not bursting

Here is a place where time takes its time
padding along with gentle feet
In this watercolor world, anything is possible
even the flowers, their glorious outpouring of color

I think the trees & wind must be good friends
they bend to the other’s will; they listen
I think they have pleasant conversations
gesticulating wildly

Among people, time marches past you,
scattering and dispersing thought fragments
It bores quickly, opening and shutting doors
making a loud, misshapen fog

I think of how the trees looked in the winter,
the poor things, starved and bare and horribly lonely
As though they’d been electrocuted, turned into
beggars with hungry arms, pleading the sky

Now it is impossible to feel sorry for them
Things are satisfied in the spring,
asking and seeking nothing

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