This morning is intrepid and excavating,
Look up at the sky and the paper thin clouds
Of the rolling hill and the underneath glow,
The playfulness and lightness of touch are not at odds
That knows perhaps all our pain and foibles.
Instead of ignoring and edging towards the door,
Words shuttle back and forth like lilting melodies
The finely tuned birdsongs aspire to be a major voice-
Repetitions and echoes owe something to the breeze,
Portray the strong pulls in our divided mind
Transport us to the land of all too sad yet real,
In every letter, in every word, we spin contrasts
Nothing is permanent, never simply repeats or
Pack with rage and fury and built to last forever.