This morning we were led up ,by words, to intact mornings. Icarus failed to fly on waxen wings and dropped down peacefully as the farmers furrowed their land. Our monkey God rose to meet the sun fruit only to return with a red apple mouth .
It did not matter we failed . Our mornings were intact.
The almond tree forgot all about the maroon leaves it had dropped a few weeks ago. It is now green spring in its leaves. A pocket music sang of the many women of Krishna with only one in his heart.
In the neighbor green bench there is now an absence where was a stretching girl. Girl now stretches morning runs, clockwise.
The song in the pocket asks Radha why she is not singing her love song.
It does not matter we have failed.
The farmers quietly plough lands
And sun is burning in eastern sky
And vow, our mornings are intact