On the occasion I think of water 
Blue triptychs and salmon lake fishing
Strewn across pavements their glowing traces of movement in silver 
And I pick them up by their delicate hard shells 
Placing them onto the grass
Maybe it is easier to look down while
Sunny stares into the sky mistaking suns for moons
Flower and strawberry moons hung high and low in spring summer nights 
And we walk through mournings hugged by the wind
To take flight