Revisionist Poetry – When A Dally Dillies, v.5 – causalities

When a dally dillies

it’s quite common, or not,
for flowers to wilt
when the staring cow
curls its tongue and times the moon.

it learned to count the slow ticks
between the moon’s breaths —
one eye fixed on sorrow’s hour,
the other blinking the sun away.

its counting unlaces the stems’ hold on dew:
each tick lifts a thread of sap,
the cow’s gaze a quiet tide that pulls water down,
and petals answer on cue.

Too much, too soon —
even I crave boundary:
a rim of air, a measured tide
to keep my thoughts from spilling.

The boat cuts through the blue
and leaves a neat, astonished wake.

Finally,
clouds roll over me in friendly waves,
soft flags of weather, soft goodbyes.

Farewell, rational thought —
I learn to paddle with my eyes.