No cloud animals
Darting in front of you
Hanging like baseball boys bopping their heads
In time to yield signs through backseat windows
And road signs you have no time to follow.

Stretches of land against
Hills and trees
You rock.
No porches this summer mindless chatter
From nearby lives assembled in nuclear peace
They sip tea and go to flea markets.

No floating casual lake time
When you just dip the end of your
Fingers in to get cool.
All you need are the ends. That small.

Where are the cows?

No apples so heavy with what they are
They drop noiseless into your open palm.

No grasping. Just being.