music swirls violet in the gloaming,
the sound of leaf-rustle and shadowed things,
a fretting moon, rising between bare boughs
waiting for the sky-blossom of stars
we are here
and I wonder if
on other planets, other worlds
tiny beings, like us dream
or could love our blue and green,
the stained-glass glow of light through trees,
the pull of tides, or feel
the slowing spinning of days and
the rush of years,
the joy in seeing the first daffodil.
My poem from the Oracle. She also got me confused with Jane and gave me “eat sausage with,” which I ignored.