Windborne madness scattering
The woodpile balanced on horehound tips
Deletes the map returning hummingbirds
Would have followed.
Contagious though insanity may be,
Those with the emerald amulet are
Than common thigh-riding skyhawks.
Tentative steps of returning years
Repot spinach and coleus.
Air-rooted green chilies
Escape plodding reality-censors.
The years do not demand coherence,
To whom does the vinegar wind belong?
Surfeit of time, too thick,
Is the mad-virus matrix.
Yet it is not the hummingbirds nor horehound
Nor even you nor I
That generates rain of thimbles.
Frog mountain dances the scattered woodpile
To rest 'round the emerald heart of the whirlwind.