over the emerald sky. My limbs
are sprawled over silicone grass
as I observe butterflies flit in
and out of existence. Everything
is as it should be. Idly, I conduct
the morning, my arm leaving blurs
behind like a paintbrush. Memories
of another world, similar to this
one but seen through a petrol spill,
congeal at the edges of my vision.
I shake my head free. Leave me here,
in this field suffused with scents
of burnt cinnamon, with the chimes
of those distant crystalline waves.
A soft rain falls, melting trees.
Prompt for today was Purple Clouds from LemondaisyPoetry on Instagram