Flying through the sky
Fierce and phantom cloud spirit
Flees from the summer.
Soft the shadows fall
Between patches of sunlight;
Bright leaves seem to smile.
Sitting, looking out--
So many things I can do--
Sitting, looking out.
Small yellow flowers
Seem to have come from nowhere
In pot on my porch.
Is it a statue?
Or someone meditating?
Or does it matter?
Voices chirp behind;
Two young boys on bicycles
Go streaming by me.
Delicate tendrils
Hold small pregnant bulbs above;
Just weeds on a pole.
"No Trespassing" sign
Wiped away by the shadows
And generous sun.
With weights in each hand
She jogs into the shadows
Humming to herself.
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