inhaling light as air
picking Lichenroot there on her walk

insect-lonely,
she watches the stiff verdant boughs
lit by dawn beneath the wild rose sky

tonight she’ll warm Moonhoney
in her brew of Lichenroot and Whispergrass
and finally exhale

She didn't own a gun;
had never even pulled a trigger,
but this would be of little consequence
given the short range from the target.

A pattern sprayed across the wall
from the brush of a painter
gone lazy with achievement

casting the silhouette of a ghost
onto the hurried concrete

to be outlined with chalk

starting a game of hopscotch.
Passers-by tossing bits of skull
with fragments of hair
and brains still attached;

skipping and hopping with a skill
that says

Do we hear their call
when they bloom to get noticed
craving to say Hi

Do we hear their call
when they sway on gentle breeze
in colorful frocks

Do we hear their call
when they flirt with butterflies
in a play full dance

Do we hear their call
in their mute prayers and songs
in wreaths and bouquets

Do we hear their call
when in silence they emote
a tiny dew drop

Do we hear their call
while they bid us their goodbyes
and fade from our lives

At the starting line,
My heart beats in anticipation.
This is the moment of truth,
a chance to be a champion

After months of training,
the time is finally here
Let the world witness
the fruits of my labour

The sound of the gun heard
the race started with a burst of speed.
The fans roared in excitement
as track warriors compete

I'm not running here
I'm flying! Soaring against the wind
For the fans who believed in me
I will spread my wings