attempting cursive

a minuet in the golden hour

the frost glowed its vapor

as the sun surfaced from its

eternal shine-

ephemeral patterns of birds

flew in the distance among

the tallest tree lines;

as i journeyed toward the light,

my eyes were stupefied by its sight,

so i followed the birds

and found migration in my vaporous heart,

somewhere in its eternal center,

a chill within me felt no longer winter. 

the nature of you

wouldn’t it be nice to walk on the moon,

to gaze into stardust-weightless and blue.

to feel free from the complex nature of life:

is there such thing as answering this right?

for every nature of you, there’s a nature of me:

complexity, the design of living free.

i’d solely walk the moon, composing the sun-

only to see the nature of such a question, i’m wrong.