While I was trying to grow a turtle shell…

I suppose,

I will sit here 

with a handful of feathers…

ready to paint the sky,


to grow  a turtle shell,

line by line by 



through wisps of strips looking for lettuces

and in a blink of an eye-

litter grasses with leaves from places I’ve been…

I suppose those who picnic nearby 

may say

what a very ordinary extraordinary tortoise 

or then again,

they may not,

but that doesn’t really change anything does it?

imprints are still left 

on feathers..


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