Myopic and old, These words arrive Through a purple mist. Bending together In blue and red waves — Their pixelated motorcade Dances...

Mouths open to speak But eyes say more than words can Learning how they talk Much needed whispers Gingerly float through the air Smiles...

like rolling meadows of wildflowers that seem to go on forever like the way spring arrives on a warm blue day in April like the grass...