Idle Days

by Joseph Bottone

These idle days the hills steadily rise
range higher to snow-capped Rocky Mountains.
Spring flowers shut by night chills
open on slender stems
as they feel the touch of sunlight.
Wild field grass blows, dappled ponies graze.
My days, idling away.

I was born to burn in the gaze of
what my eyes and ears learned
to embrace.

The ever-changing melodic voice:
the river down the hill glistens rushing by.
Migrating birds simulating stars
sun their breasts on the topmost branches.
Heavenly beings clothed in familiar forms
transfer thoughts to me that become my own.