the woman behind a measure of fence is there within the silence

murmmering about the oak tree , its little creatures, its smallest birds

and the great shadow we both share.

 

The breath of a god carries her thoughts,

enjoying the cliche of grey squirrels, she tells the world

they’re excitable. Holding a nut of lunch to their tiny chests,

looking cute as they swim between inhaling braches.

 

I’ve watched them too,

like silver fish, like thoughts between the neurons

of an active mind or

those words that always escape me.