today I pick a larkspur
(prairie purple with little petals)
sun tumbling over flower-skin,
little beady mists suspended

then, a tower-pine maestro
waves branch-wand
to the clump of feather-tweeters
on its twiggy shoulders, shaking

my woolen socks fling
from whitened toes
flagging wind bits
up my knee,
happy trail, up
pausing at my breastbone
(with heart still in hybernation)
yelling: wake up
wake up

melted tear streams erode
liquefy aged stone-center
and im finally hungry for
breakfast