can we chronicle the sky?
cornflower with milk white
apostrophe stars strung in its

abundance. a neighbour at my
door knocking, one hand a
fistful of daffodils, their canary

trumpets, the other catching
& cooing over my heart as it
runs amok. i want to be

swaddled like that, the ghost
of tissue paper hugging stems,
fingers permed around ribbon.

compose me an incantation
for splendour, a poesy for the
medicine of honeyed tea, another

for the ritual of sudsing & soaking
our rottweiler’s dish. he makes it
look easy: his boundless joy, barks

ricocheting the graffitied underpass;
yes, you are prairifire blossom;
yes, you are a whole damn moon.