DAYDREAM'S WHEEL
Lying,
back to the soft earth,
The
wild brush reaching into the blue above,
Heather
and thistle and lemongrass
Down
drift in the air,
Grounding
us--all that we know is real.
I
find you, for what it's worth,
Less
fictional than love,
A
collection of short stories that last,
And
for you, as for this place, I care.
There
are so many lucid layers to peel.
Bare
feet, laughter, a smile's birth,
Counting
the colors of the wildflowers that hover
In
time as it moves from present to past.
Perfection
is a sentiment, perhaps unfair.
We
are placed in this gentle ideal
With
only the sunlight's unfolding girth
To
dapple our skin through the foxglove.
This
moment, fragile as glass,
Enchanting
as it is rare,
Spins
endless, a cog in this daydream's wheel.
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