At precisely 9.25. When the moon, the first and most abundant one of the new year,

Quite a sight to behold: a woman of sun, reclining on the grass, in a meadow, abundantly recumbent, hair and limbs lush with heat

The courtly old lady, widowed for decades, and her calico cat, who take each afternoon sun

My body. Outstretched. On a deck. Between the Sky and the Earth.

To ask your Self. In the still of the night, whether bright-starred or half-mooned. In the midst of the day,

Between the keys. Between the chords. Between the notes. Between the sound you make

Red lights flaring like Roman candles at empty intersections. Headlights wanding like blind men’s sticks

Of my family name. One day, 150 years ago. In a Castle Garden where Jenny

It arrives on a warm white cloud. It arrives on soft rolls of ocean waves along a sand pebbled shore. It arrives on a bed

While countries, armies and ideologies battle, bees make honey. Butterflies float, and drink the nectar from gently open flowers.

A man rides his bicycle on the sea. Salt rubs the tires. Sun reflects on the soles of his shoes.

The tender new leaves of the trees, emergently green. The white feathers of the wading egret.