There was a philosopher named Pangloss whose sole objective was to get across: Ours is the best of worlds! And yet, the crapper swirled and nothing escaped but dregs and dross.
Panglossian Limerick
Reply

butterfly,
at work on a flower.
a bird circles
victory in the palm of the hand (specifically, the winged, laurel-bearing Nike -- goddess who personifies victory) it's a bit on the nose as is the bent front leg as if standing on the chest of a vanquished foe as is the looming, nothing says victory like looming (unless you're a weaver) but victory is never so unambiguously glorious as it's mythologized
nine miles down an old dirt road that runs the valley, the road disappearing before the pass, fading into a footpath, and then into a vague notion in a rare turn of events, i can see - but not hear - the whitewater that's running back toward from whence i came, and then on to a sea in some distant country i sit on a grassy hilltop, feeling i'm far enough down the road to be at peace

yellow petals
catch the morning light
& glow gold

Pandemic street art
lingers on the walls —
just like its grounds