Fool's Paradise

Wetlands at dusk:

pink-skinned water ripples

with the sibilant trees.

A great orchestra

of atmospheres,

the virtuoso lift of keys

from minor to major.

Jet planes

design the sky;

their etch-a-sketch of mixing breaths

is a kind of wounding.

Until thoughts

of sex

reclaim the scene,

landing like bouncing bombs

across the lake,

ripping up the reeds,

leaking psychedelic colours

milkweed whites . . .

Silly-String pink.