Landscape with Cows
       

Time is but a gate between the fields
of non and sense, a selfmade fence to keep us
in our lives, which I would leap
to know your mind—
as summer tolls I told you so.

Mountains score the sky.
They might as well be ideas
in the distance, monuments to time
which thin the air to nonsense.
(I would climb.)

Near the stream, cows ruminate.
They are cows. Moved
by happenstance, they sit, they eat.

Patience is a dragonfly, purple
and impossible as
reason. (Here's a reason:
I pretend to be
a man acting like a boy.)

I would know your mind,
alight between the fields,
balance like a dragonfly.

I would dip my wings
in what is yours and what is mine.

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Copyright © 2020 Alan Michael Parker All rights reserved
from Days Like Prose
Wordfarm
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission