Do you see a swan
aloft? Or, no, a frog
adrift, dreaming
on the wing.

Do you see
a stand of trees?
Or walkers,
standing still
for now.

Do you see a bus,
huddled 
with a hundred cars?
A  S L O W  hurry.

Do you see a cloud?
Or only Sky,
her rumpled hair
falling to her waist.

Do you hear a song?
Soto voce? A capela?
Or rain
on terra cotta.

Do you feel a wind?
A woosh of crows?
A  windy murder?

A sea of stems?
A tide of prairie grass?
A stem tsunami.

A string, circling,
lacing fingers.
A  cradle  for  a  c a t .

Pale lamplight,
lurking low, or no,
a sullen moon,
shopping
for a nightgown.

A girl, gathering
plastic, addled glass
and empty cans.
A forgiving girl.

An crimson leaf,
afraid of heights.
A crystal droplet.
They will fall together.

A window
and rolling hills.
No, a rumpled bed.
A sleepy girl
with tumbled  hair.

A warning storm,
Friday-faced,
or, no, drenching,
pounding rain all week.

A firestorm?
An amber streak?
A string of scarlet beads?
No, sunset on the sea.