An amniotic fluid initiates
the moon to the thunderstorm―
as you climb the tide.

Like a stag― opening the
summer, browsing on
the daisies.

It takes sometime
to sink. This was―
the peacock hour.

A finch will land―
on my shoulder and
look into my eyes, ritualizing it.

The glow was real
in your hair,
borrowed from the sun.