I drop under the azure sky,
fall onto the grass, fresh in spring,
sniff as if for the first time.
The little cat comes to join me,
picking up each paw to navigate the way.
She drops into the shade traced by my arm.
Then, she crawls away
to her better advantage.
Once I sat under this sky
on a green hill
with a boy.
We laughed at the slow parade of cumulus clouds,
watched the white birds drifting:
an angel,
a circus clown —
a theater of our own.
Mary Elyn Bahlert, 04/2020
