This hour of sky tangles
blue grass with hair,
basket-weaving cocoons
for the blind
and impatiently lost.
Everyone with an open
regard for nature,
both kinds, that which
surrounds,
and that which inhabits skin.
Laid back counting clouds
with the breeze, it is easy
to dream a capacity for flight
or at least ponder falling
with upward momentum.
We are grateful for the gravity
of honest words.
They lack doubt, steadfastly
holding everything together.
Maybe even us.
Honorable winner
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