Sun rose red This morning seeking Luna,
jejeune, I pink my way across the grass. PASS.
Cloud’s illusions I recall, now:
vertebrae; and skidding halt
of bunnycloud on trail skid
direct across the sky and then another
on collision path
and yet one more comes in to view.
What is that distant point where they converge?
Ever farther out. Earth orbit.
I love thee, sky, and clouds.
Love is not only desirous of identity
but also of multiplicity
starting in duality
which appears two halves of one,
with one witness
one repetItive breath.
My fingers spelled ‘e’ – repetEtive; my mind tried ‘a’ – repetAtive, and had to look it up.
For a moment, I had forgot about “i”.