Realms of Incandescence

Late spring, learning to breathe fire in the woods,
we shake the rust from our young, shallow lungs.
A circle of five, we pass dreams between
our lips, swallowing plumes of blue-gray smoke.

We shake the rust from our young, shallow lungs
and watch paper tatters drift on the wind.
Our lips, swallowing plumes of blue gray-smoke,
invite the visions in, as our eyes droop

and watch paper tatters drift on the wind.
Green light trickles through a veil of leaves to
invite the visions in, as our eyes droop.
we while away hours, wandering the

green. Light trickles through a veil of leaves,
and lost in dappled worlds beneath oak trees,
we while away hours, wandering the
late spring, learning to breathe fire in the woods.

A/N: A pantoum. June 30, 2010.