Gently blows the wind, capsizing all the wild horses
as she glides in the air heedless.
She hops through the potholes,
her flip flops vibrant.
Breeze gets breezier every time
the hem of her skirt sways.
The rays, hiding in the trunks shower her skin
but turn to ashes yet dance behind her,
hop along her and imitate her wanton ways.
What a fine day to everybody’s dismay,
shoots in a quiet and queer signal,
the leaves in quiver and the grasses shiver;
everything fallen rises to a whirlwind.
She hops and rubs her back against a tree
debris pelt her back and ricochet –
Time heals and the potholes silent.
Sky now dully shines through the potholes,
She collects herself and shakes it off,
splashes and hops in again in
quintessence
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