Willows On the Wingding

Willows lower their finger tips
touching wetted ground at play
and clouds not loud nor stay
upon an April Marching away
a Sunday sun-amazing round flips
bright, debates fastidious breezes
brisky; risky storming crest of day.
Mount-tippytops...shekin-ah,
tropos-stratos-ionos teases
blue sphere, a dog's "no fear," sheer
light-lace binging bringing, chime rings--
finch sings--pinch of giggling wingdings.

Tom Baca (2014)

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Dwelling Places

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