Seagulls sound like happy goats
and naked babies tickle toes in the water;
the first day of spring in the bones
is a good day indeed
for a picnic with my bare knees.

The duck, with feathers slicked
from quick dips
looks smooth and skilled
like a snake, in the water.
I perch on my rock ledge
wearing my wild hair
listening to the symphonies of Wagner.

These clouds are scooped
from celestial ice cream cups;
I sketch them like stars
connect constellations.
They pass in front and throw the spotlight
to far distant islands fore-fronted
by their disco shores—

my turn will come,
for the sunlight spotlight.

I lean back and smile
as the hair on my legs
unravels and stands, as
my body whispers,
the sun is friend, the sun is friend.

As clouds cast patterns of kaleidoscope quilt
against the harbor sea,
gulls float up in the windless sun
to the vibrato of Verdi’s opera.
Lapping tide against the rocks
is like a big smooching kiss;

this world of ours indeed is a waltz.

I haven’t take my bare knees out
for a walk, a stroll, in ages.
They act like a child discovering snow
for the first time.

I watch, as the sunlight spotlight
shimmies towards me, the tune of Borodin
over the sparkly quilt water—
delicious! Riveting! No lenses needed.
My, what a breathless day.

It’s a perfect day for a bare-kneed picnic
and a bout of dreaming
on the ledge to opera.
There is ill in the world
that exists, not here.

I lay back, to wait
for the sunlight spotlight
and I watch the clouds
appear to descend
uncurling and reaching
to the beat of my blood.

I perch here
on the rock ledge,
watching slick ducks
and ice cream clouds
and disco shores
and I feel
that sunlight spotlight.

The reader brings his or her own experience to the poem and creates meaning. Here is my mine:

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