where a row of oak trees
intertwined above a broken
sidewalk you saw a girl
who turned your head
in the background a chorus
of cares—that gallery
of wavy mirrors—laughed
and danced
and you strayed
into a field of wildflowers
unexpected as poetry
on that transparent morning
you skipped stones
and taunted peacocks until
evening quivered and
she told you how joy skips
everyone now and then
in the end a westerly wind
lured you like a lullabye
into a sleep pale as petals
and you dreamed of a girl
who turned your head
(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
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