left

sometimes

when my muse leaves

you’ll catch me prone

on dew-sprinkled grass

imprints of arms and legs

soaked in the sweat of

dawn

and time

rolls with my supine

body catching thorn-ed

rose beds and daisies

by the silt of river

and remains of yellow

leaves

so while

my muse flies into

the cotton sky and

blue blanket that warmly

hides the

stars

my eyes

watch the orange fall

and all the ringing larks

waiting for my muse to

land into the wellspring

of my heavy

thoughts