Fragments of pearl stipple the steeple,
then cuddle the dust, sun and moon
fusing behind pale fleece, still
all but the wind chill,
raw sugar to an open mouth,
casting magic over mundane,
before shrinking to show the familiar.
Goodbye once again—
but the glimmer, the aftertaste!
presses the epiphany: Every day
backyards become wonderlands
one way or another.
