6808. I'VE GOT THE FLIGHT OF THE BUMBLE BEE RIGHT HERE IN MY HAND

I'VE GOT THE FLIGHT OF THE 

BUMBLE BEE RIGHT HERE 

IN MY HAND

Each time the forest closes the night opens

up to the possible world  -  the stuff dreams

are made of : alternative versions of the versions

of Life. All manners of speaking, and words are

jumbled, and meanings cross. The wind becomes 

the butterfly which then becomes the bird. On the

forest floor, standing, a single human looks up.