I’m waiting for the snow to fall
in between painting and catching the sky.
Bluejays dart here and there.
My coffee is hot.
I’ve listened to Greta Van Fleet’s Flower Power three times, volume way up.
I’m thinking of the two vintage nightgowns
and Emily Dickinson,
bracelets of invisible words are her halo.
Song birds weave paths of blue velvet ribbon through the branches.
The trees reach up, limbs expectant.
The breath of it all is a prayer.