Gentle beads with friendly witty waifs
ascend from the night’s sky.
A pine cone drops passively to the ground.
The fools gather around.
With nothing in particular, to be found.
the daily deluge of disturbance without a sound.
Former filaments of filthy winter wreckage,
Fresh with frigid gasps of air.
Letting life out.
Letting life in.
When the elements begin, again.
Like a joke that only grows old…
the more it is told.