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how quickly the clouds scurry ’bout in low-lie rush of sky,

how quickly the clouds scurry ’bout in low-lie rush of sky,
the froth of nothing bowing forth from sight of Tamer,
Teacher, Moon.. the winking Moon, but bright as bleach’d clouds ‘fore Her,
though giving more to eye than sight.. light, the
traveler’s guide through wood, through mason’s work,
the dry-as-new streets/signs of some outside wave
gone stagnant, stilled for cope of swell.

And amongst the lumber, a bee struck up a game of tag
when thinking

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musings & scribbles