I would have life be poetry
yet there are too many hard edges
anger flays words into shreds
and daily minutia is poison
that spreads throughout the paper
evaporating ink before it can dry

I would stray from the path
picking through leaves in deep shade
turning them this way and that
just to see the light reflected
but a bell is ringing
and I must hurry to dusk

I would hear music in daylight
birdsong and wind whispers
heartbeat cadence with every breath
yet drowned out by cacophony
a million voices clamor for attention
see me, hear me, give me

I would have life imitate art
instead of the other way around
though cloud brush strokes are perfection
patterns of grass waving on prairie
are rivaled only by the whorl of whelk
I confess to understanding nothing