The meadow languishes.
Three pairs of your feet’s steps remain visible now,
even though you lied down, minutes ago.
Grass pressed into small etches slowly refilling themselves to full volume.
My eyes go loose and wide as
they stop seeing and start imagining the imprint your form will leave
when you arise.
Topiary impressionist piece.
Watching the moody weather make its precious, little changes.
False threats of pending precipitation.
The sky throwing a hissy fit for our benefit.
I finally sit down to watch it proper.
Strange grid-like lines buzz low intensity neon colors into a concaved and convexed axis.
Strange maths laboring, barely concealed by a cloudy cover.
I feel that sudden lucidity accompanying
the realization that I am dreaming.