Talking birds of attitude at altitude
offer you candy on a plate
full of fortuitous shooting stars
bound by the invisible lines
that only your eyes can see
join the dots evenly
when clouds hide from sight
the silver fins circle the night
moon in the seacoast garden.
old memories tied up in string quartets
of lines played out to historical satire
of inescapability inaccuracies
Still believing that bees can fly
from the west to feast on tea gardens
pouring honeysuckle symphonys.