The freshly- hued sky casted silhouettes
Of muslings and swifts. The light of the sun
Stressed the vast grey sky and easily
Pushed through diaphanous clouds. The
Mediation of the marsh grasses near
Would accommodate the girl’s phlegmatic
Soul with the birds, but the girl was
Finical. Free the hands, and allow
The dainty whiskered tree swifts to
Precipitate onto the velveteen
Fingertips -the Zeitgeist of youth.

Cool dawn light streamed from the blotted clouds



Around her, and exhaled a parcel of







Innocent muslings and swifts. They are the





Explorers of the land and the sky.








In one hand, the muslings gathered to







Be fed from the girl’s velveteen palms.
As the girl inhaled the nebulous mist
Of the morning, she was breathing the
Clandestine prophecies -while the hands were
Free to dig deeper in the Earth, to
Discover the transcendental
Dexterity of rumination.

Warm noon light shone from the clouds overhead and
Exhaled a wave of oxygen –pushing
The pigeons into the dogwood trees.
They have been the denizens here for a while.
One hand was left to blister and callous –
Defeated by the days of nothing but
Tedious responsibilities and
Lacerations by a passel of
The equivocal castigations.
This is the hand to be bedraggled
Of clay and sweat, but gain empirical
Dexterity of old age.

The dim, hollowed sky casted silhouettes
Of pigeons and doves. The light of the sun
Bore the weight of the darkened air, And
An explosion splattered across the
Western sky. The swaying, long grasses
Would contradict the girl’s phlegmatic soul,
But nothing could perturb her now. Free the
Hands, and allow the pigeons to
Evaporate from her velveteen
Fingertips -the Zeitgeist of the
Flock’s neoteric propriety.