The morning is clear:
A baby-blue sky
Sparkling with dew
With smears of red and green
Deuce of yellow, purple.
There is not a
Pulse from the earth
Not a stir among woods
Movement in the space.
Then, in the distance
A flurry of wind rises
Chases across the land
Like a girl on her bicycle
Her skirt flapping, flapping on
Light, gentle knees.
