Misty green mornings
between mildew and haze.
A spider-drop of sunlight;
the arcane cries let loose.
I creep along the wall, finger-tips pressed tight
(too tight, not tight enough) against plaster bullets
Eating craters into flesh pads.
My ears squeak in tune to verdant ruckus.
I close my eyes to inhale orchid fumes,
Spewing aphids when I blink.
I shower in the aquafied light.
The dance of steam entrancing, and I
(forgot to wash behind my eyes) remember Sunday's breakfast of pancakes.
The moss sponges beneath my feet are sultry and inviting.
I step away from the wall and discover the
Image I had in my head.