I asked, what’s new?
What’s in a thousand years? What’s not?
I said, blood colored butterflies.
Do jokes swim in the sea?
Not only the legs of summer clouds,
But the shapes of dusk in rain puddles.
And odd number of stars,
An even number of snowflakes.
I asked, that’s happening?
Was that a nod?
Pine cones and lightning.
The wind pouring cereal in a bowl.
With only the universe for a compass.