Jacaranda

The jacarandas look more beautiful on an overcast day.
As if anything could look more beautiful than it already is.

Their delicate but deep violet penetrates my heart.
I wish that I could take their flowers and melt them into a cloud
and float away with it on the white and dusty sky.

I would travel to a distant land of wild roses,
of no time.
I would lay under the bare sky and sleep under the stars,
honeydew dreams attracting moths around my young and curly head.

I'd wake up to the gentle rays of a gentle sun on a gentle morning.
Everywhere: quiet, but the dawn chorus.
Foraging for apples and berries, I would stop to consider the weeds under my feet
and their smiling purple, white, yellow faces looking up at me.

The wild horses would kick up dust in the distance behind me
as I'd approach the edge of a cliff opening up to a valley:
a river running away from a waterfall, a butterfly teasing a light speck.

I'd breathe in, and breathe out: I'm still here.

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