fons et origo
itty bitty house built a hundred wings wide
each little bird has eyes filled with a wayside light
settled high on a cliff above the telephone wires
itty bitty house feels sea coral skies
red morning sky it is, floating
daffodils in the yard breathe in rust colored sun
wheat grass sways in dew-mist settled gently, a waist deep pond
fog in the sky, fog in the grass
a fret wades off from the sea
clouds become haze in muffled light
quiet, so quiet
small drops of water suspended in crisp air
ether glows dimly as an opalescent blur
endless slow hours for light to rise
upon the bottom of the high cliff
needled fir melts to lavender in contrast
let go of trees and mottled wood
grasp golden sap, honeycomb chambers
yogurt moon sinks low
fading clustered reflection
those birds may see a treasure
something of a reposeful glitter
a hundred wings to scatter to half a century’s worth of feathered souls
black gold pinions shine a blue-purple hue
to snatch up stars and comets and fallen sky
tuck them away in hollows, caves
they fly counterclockwise around the itty bitty house
a merry-go-round
a cluster of tiny riches flash brightly in a whirl
around the cliff and the house set up above the foam
carousel at a sunrise carnival
dawn light in as many colors as a burst of confetti
set sail, set sail
© Sabrynne Buchholz 2020
Originally appeared in the Greyrock Review
