there are little things
blooming all around us

that are neither simple
nor ordinary

but are mistaken 
as such

birdsong
the curious octaves
of a long-forgotten memory

beehive
a planet within a planet

a summer’s night
in which we allow the stars
to nibble at our skin

a field of wildflowers
as lovers falling 
with rings of chamomile 
in their hair

wind
when the cosmos whisper,
do you listen?

rain
if the sky is falling, friend,
pick it up

a summer’s afternoon
as butterflies leaping upon the vine

a kiss
neither so hard 
nor so soft
as the crumbling of a language
at our fingertips