Fluffy white, speckled with dots
of the golden spring sun
I sat on the boulder by canal-side
and watched you fly by
past the canvas of my eyes.
Astonishment—
as the scattered flowers, stale
now—
infused of plushie vibrancy
alive again.

I paddled to my cycle years old;
on a chase to the fields endless
behind walls shadowing your presence—
paddled...