I get lost in the asteroid fall at noon
in the glitter of the brilliant shawl
blooming with yellow mimosas
celebrating the arrival of Mars
with the kiss of the shibazakura of the east
like primroses on the emerald-studded meadow.
All the mimosas will say I’m a chimney sweep
or an owl dressed in ash from head to toe
with the golden aura moving like
the Northern Lights on top of the world, strutting.
I prefer southern ocher
verdigris or intense turquoise.
