Flushed

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

indoor plumbing.

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.

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