I wake early with no air in my lungs
having spent my last breath
keeping a sparrow afloat
to join the stork escaping
winter's smothering grasp
I disappear when not observed
in the catamaran's wake lies
a summer scent of snow
no rose to wither but a hint of scarlet
a glimmer of sorrow
I lie as naturally as I breathe
little wisps of white
floating on indigo,
round little pearls gossiping about
the moon bobbing in the waves
the sun sinking below its murky depths
a match made in heaven