I’m one of few who can see
the things that shouldn’t be,
like trees winking asleep,
like eyes in the willow grass
in the wetlands that grow at my feet,
like the steelheads with wings
who pretend to swim upstream,
like the pond frogs with skin
the colors of a eucalyptus tree.
They float on redcap spores—
speak in letters green cells can read.
They spread like pollen-fire—
and in the feverish dark, they burn
like barreleyes in the water,
like light-spills in that nocturne.
My second reminder within the hour of when I used to walk the woods in search of fairies…
I love this! Nice and breezy! Good read!