My eyes are drawn like magnets
To the cotton acini of the cherry blossom
In another reality I would lie on that lemonade pink pillow
And find the time to sift through what is unfolding before me
The static canal, a wrinkled mirror
Peacefully disrupted by a defibrillating breeze
Tilting trees lapping at its surface
To offset the stream of the frosty sun
Daffodils salute me from the opposite, appetising bank
An abrupt drop into a controlled ravine
A glistening, unstoppable curtain
Flooding the scene with a foamy roar
Reverberating off of tide-painted walls
Cacophonously intertwined with traffic’s thunder
The ivory blocks asymmetrically windowed
Infuse the scene with an Iberian twist
An overgrown carpet of reeds blurred by March sunlight.
