through each tiptoed step, green grass
lightly tickles. Phone left behind, I wander
freely. In the dark

the lamp by 3N illuminates Monsieur Swan:
silver and squiggly, an unnamed work of art,
until I gave it a name.

I touch Monsieur Swan’s nose, surrounding me
and her, is a wall blocking chaos out from beyond,
made of towering trees, so sure of themselves. Following

their example for a moment, alone, I
know myself. Declaring my purpose to the universe
three deer freeze in their tracks, we

make eye contact. My speech ends, breaths are held. A twig
snaps! The spell breaks, we all go our separate ways.
Except for Monsieur Swan, she stays.

 

Also published on the Scribe website: https://eportfolios.macaulay.cuny.edu/the67thstreetscribe/2021/02/24/i-see-a-star-i-hear-a-cricket/