fishbone tree and orange yard
this old sea is growing hard
sun is yawning tired of day
purple awning fades to gray
stream is passing through the woods
mustard grass and stubborn mud
people laughing in its wake
beavers lap and otters shake
there is nothing to explain
moon will always wax and wane
wind will come and go too soon
brain stays hollow as a spoon
sky will wear the mask of night
change to day and feel no fright
ground will crumble like a cake
soul divides it—toothpick stake
clouds of chalk in naked sky
form a flock and pass us by
mouths agape and arms awry
we pretend we too can fly
