The heron floated above
pussy willows and bellowing frogs,
not concerned about low flutterings
of girls in small buildings
with babies swirling down toilets
bits at a time.
There’s no mistaking the keening sound
of misery despite the miracle of
There’s no chance that a giant and a fairy
could make a happy wood sprite.
Our feet must leave the ground to fly.
Turmoil is found by mixing elements,
like a Maxfield Parrish collage
made of cheese, copper, and gum.