Forbidden choice, a fruit of old regrets,
Has wisest been, but look at what is left:
Admire, lisp of ash-tree, contradance,
And garden all the same, and never once

Repeated softly by itself in genius bloom.
What more to reach, if feather only could?
Would go for distant islands, earthling sparks,
And step one forward to a water-falling lust,

For chase of light, bewildered northern sky,
In green and violet, no limits of the night,
Or grassy lush in style of the hills,
To only learn how the horizon feels?

It may or may not be a good excuse
For following a pathless path of Muse.
Have I or have not been in here before,
But feather always longs for lively more...

June 2024