Water and dust—
Sky feathers—streaking
White on blue;
Passing green grass
As I walk, of you
Fondly thinking,
If know you must.
Quiet chirps
Can be heard
From a hundred birds
In the green-leafed trees,
Fluttering on the breeze
Plumage black-purple:
Their cries sonic
My private thoughts
Can’t penetrate
Beyond membrane tympanic
While visions of you are brought
Below my pate to resonate.
Copyright © 2013 H.K. Longmore
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Musings of a Kunderian Monster 