Should I relax into this lonely nest, nowhere near the best, and the view from behind this window pane where so many on the other side seem insane?  Here, I exist; that’s all there is to it.

Should I crack open each present day and wad up the wraps, they might say?  Precious seconds are gifts, I’ve often heard, practical beyond frankincense and myrrh.  To suckle collective air, would unnaturally fit.


Opened present or nest with paned window?  Oh, amniotic fluid and human-headed minnow magnified through faithful liquid in glass!  Nectar through holy spoon into green fairy from flask!  Sincerely, I cannot conceive of breaking my vow.

(Could I even fly, betraying my shady fairy of green?  On the other side, could I rejoice in being seen?  Would I ever need return to this lonely nest, nowhere near the best?)  The key is with me—now.

by S.A. Bort / 25 June 2013

Above photo:  ‘The Green Muse’ by Albert Maignan, 1895.

Below photo:  artist unknown