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.


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