of Wings and Water

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.