welntaod

Happy poetry day, my pretties... *cackle*

Between slow transits...

Between slow transits
of the pendulum I
dream cats plumply
mopping up spilled sunlight
thinly sliding through
doors left ajar

I coin finches learning
their flight from stones
skipping on water borrowing
color from daffodils
banking their gold in my
memory until spring

I suppose brooks to stop
across going somewhere
in no great hurry
rivulets to stop with
twigs and pebbles, becoming
beaver who creates
new ponds from meadows
where
speckled rocks imagine
themselves trout swimming
in basins of light