White

March 24, 1993

I bent to lift the small white mouse blooming with the grass. I wore him like a ring past the pink house sprouting cats from the stained glass window. Six stood guard, their eyes impaled me. The sun bowed to kiss my pearl. Crows picked clean the path before me, and the graveyard glistened green shutters. The joy of this world nuzzled my shoulder and I blossomed, new, all over.