I’ve been walking a trail of feathers
For days along the black, nettled canal

Rich with blue fishes, flashing damsel
Flies, umbelliferous elder surrendering

Rhubarb stalks to the flat feet of swans.
How long have I been walking? Not far,

Just as long as I can recall. Everyone knows
Our memory is the most unreliable

Witness of all—Blue fishes in rise forms,
Waking, breaking the surface to reveal mottled

Green backs. How long have I breathed
The lacy air, creamed with thick perfumes?

Feathers fall from a gray cloudless sky,
Adorning the path until a girl collects them,

Peacocking a plain post. She knows how to walk
Too, how to breathe, allowing herself to be filled

With space, noting the green fishes of the canal,
The blood red swans, hopping yellow toads flung

Joyfully across the path, and her blue-haired dog
Bounding, framed against an iridescent lemon sky.