The Up Side of Down

From where I lay
in a hammock
strung across the creek,

the trees are brooms
with scraggly, worn-out bristles
to sweep together the clouds.

Sparrows soar by,
stir up piles of white,
upset each neat tuft.
They also spill blossoms
caught up in quills of other brooms
to litter the air with delicate debris.


a penny for your thoughts

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