Sitting in a rather cluttered workshop contemplating the world.

We are the scent of sunshine,
drifting, soaring like butterflies
o’er fields not yet mown
to land upon an apple limb
outstretched and hanging
verdant with the nectar pomme
neath cotton wool and cyan sky
that stretches far beyond
the waking call of baby’s cry.

We are the breath of moonlight
yellow streaks on placid ponds
or winking through charcoal trees
dark and straight like soldiers
waiting as our procession passes
or quiet traveller
unspoken companion on lonely walks
that stretch far beyond
the nightly journey of our peace.

We are the taste of silence
loud, crashing cymbals in ether black
unheard by fawns nestling deep
within the ferns that line the path
from here to there and back again
tall ships with curly mizzen
half sheeted in the rising swell
that drives us on into the light
the scent of sunshine promises.

mwl’17

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