Brown Hayes blots the view Smog covers the whole horizon Solutions are green

smell of fresh-cut grass all the carousel horses run in slow motion

in the afternoon my grandmother’s strawberries flaunt their progeny

Oh to shrink upon This verdant glistening sponge I dream of sphagnum

Something about the unanticipated rain seems a bit wetter

As the sun descends Multiple stars shine brighter Whispering songs still

The trees sway, dancing~ green gowns, pine-striped tuxedos; A grand, windy ball.

Swallowtail on bloom So many chips on your wings And yet you still fly

Goose honks on the wing, The Great Migration. How sad One must fly solo.