The vicious quoll
is a bloodthirsty marsupial.
The water ouzle, an adept bird.
The stellar jay who peeked at you
wondering about your sandwich.
The prickly pine hugging the rock
The grave movement of the river
A turnpike lit itself
The level of grass as it appeared
an hour before it was grass
There may have been something there.
I was in the morning what I was in the morning.
A void of stuff, an eddy of bricks
The light on an orange page
following the trail of a butterfly who is human,