The Park

The treetops aglow with sunny thunder praises coat my arms like candlelight my search ends in tulips red and yellow..and red, burning smiles I gallop with the ghosts, stopping once to smell the tulips-- then we race again, above all else mountain ranges side-by-side drinking the supplies of childish strides, the honey bees fall victim to mellifluous blends notes and notes, coming from groves and groves. Nature made sense of my breath, the little of it that I had, as I hopped and I played, high on the highest ridge, erect amongst the Thorns. Old, with their upside-down smiles like rocks and stones, melancholy bones finding their benches of earth, mounds of dirt-- covered in tulips R.I.P while I raced against the gale force winds to the end; February 15, 2016