waking
during the morning of dawn stars, vaguely remembering vivid dreaming, the intense pulsars of fleeting light
passing
he found the unlikely flying soloist
still
velvet to the touch
pollen dusting the lower left wing
stuck
to the middle of the road in November
at 48 degrees north
the painted lady feeling missed migrations, her lost dream of yesterday and the vibration of planets in retrograde
No comments :
Post a Comment