Stella sticks her toes in the grass and she don’t know
the impact — the moonlight bending on the bowing
blades of grass, casting long shadows like tracks. 
I follow her, relaxed

Stella don’t know her own impact. 

She lifts the cup to her lips to drink and sets it tender
on the forest floor — shadow roses bloom underneath
I take one and smell one and it smells like hot caramel
on the softest of winter blues.

Stella don’t know her own tact. 

When she walks she makes the wind
that blows snow dust from the pine trees
to swirl around the world like cotton 
in the breezy springtime. 

The night is an electric blanket
with Stella in the starlight. 

A slightly different version of this poem first appeared on Jerry Jazz Musician.

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