An owl from 1930 watched
as I sank my teeth into an apple
and the juice dropped onto my chest.
I was watching a spirited joust
between shadowy limbs and antennae,
not caring to find a winner on the field.
A frog was busy curating mini bridges
so the lily pads would be joined into a
utopian fantasy with plenty of flies for all.
The master craftsman sent clouds
so we could all shiver beneath the power
of timeless summer and faulty memory.