I.
Butterfly wings lay in the grass,
fallen from the air like petals
drawn on by God's crayons.
Let's collect them for your wife
and frame them
all together.
II.
I kayak through a frosty blue, smoky white
lake, laden with late-summer heat. On the shore
sits a girl.
Daffodils and daisies make her smile.
Daisy in her hair - yellow and white
fallen from the light.
She found her flower near the ocean
a place she will always go.
III.
This lake is a beehive.
Half honey-comb, half diamond-blue;
divides the horizon and shore.
Honey seeps up from the floor like a volcano
oozing lava between cracks.
A cloud of feather-fliers swarms over my shoulder
maybe they'll turn into bees;
bees of the water.
IV.
The hunter placed himself inches from your face.
Grass groaned under his bare feet.
Bruised toes and kneecaps. He stumbled.
He smiled. He crouched over.
Heard a seagull moan
like he had a bad toothache.
I put on my sunglasses to look at the water
and algae appeared
to map out the world.
V.
Let's collect the butterflies, the daffodils, the bees and the algae.
I want to see who flies first.
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