Trashing crusty leafs and grass footprints left behind from tired shipwrecked boots,
head on slashed shoulders gaze high boating the sky in cloud jumps with each step grasped
from the zipped freedom this day competes the night to steal.
Birch trees and aspens shadow the cherry blisters on the wandering hands of the kinder,
frowning grin runs wrinkles on the tushy flat forehead with visible thoughts creasing the mind with misty echoes.
Barely whispering syllables chord a nuance: 'Why thus hands holds flesh
where bites of food undeserving tamper with it's weight and grow, am I worthy of grace from human heart?'
Weeping in the mellow wind, the stream snakes in bushy grounds and rooftop tree leafs
fizzy with a melody familiar to the listener but unrecorded in the ache of the yelling lighters.
The forest fosters yet the glassy water surface of that dreamy drowning
shower of tears prickling with salt behind the kid's blushy under-eyes,
the lagoon of acoustic insects all flowering their voice like a concert festival and
there in the swaying blooms, sHe walks motionlessly across the lake.
Balloon of a dress and skin pale red,
smiling with pins for teeth and long flowy hueless hair she carecess the lock messed hair
with her snowy hand knowing what that left cheek is glimming to tell and once again asks:
'Did you come to taste the power of adoration, little aspen?'