Het is weekend. Hier. En elders.

Beauty again
presents itself

as if
for the first time.

It begins, "When I
look up,"

and goes on,
"the wet eucalyptus

is tossing, twinkling
like the sea."

It puts words in our mouths.
Similes.

Displaced,
it returns.

It can appear
in human form,

but is most often
elsewhere.

Those paired
circles of light

winking
from a shady branch.
Prettig weekend. En be nice.