I follow the path of quills and daffodils
Blue ground-facing stars and yellow suns
A spring soil night as the sky above
Turns dim, a growing grey
But a welcome one in place of
The gloom that has begun to break
And as I walk I see dozens of others
All with their glasses that turn the sun
Into a campfire crescent moon
Celebrating on every patch of grass
In the front lawns where
A cracked, plastic skeleton rests in a pile
I end up at the cemetery, fellow sky-gazers
Sitting amongst the headstones as
The trees begin to bud, robins rushing between them
Starry blue flowers sprouting beneath
As moss creeps across the polished names
And lichen-loved stones
Like faces and upturned mushrooms caps
And just in time I find a place
Where the branches part
Where I feel welcomed to sit beside the graves
Where the sounds of my eyelashes
Against the dark film that guards them
Sounds like rustling in the pinecones and dry leaves
And the chirp of birds reaches its crescendo
As that waning crescent almost gives way
Before waxing yet again
And I spend a few more moments
Planted in the grass
Before making my way out of the cemetery
I pick a direction, and on I go
Because as the sky brightens
There’s so many
White-winged moths, wolf spiders, cranes, colonies of ants
To spot along the path
And I hope to see them all
Before this day ends
