I grow like little puffs of white, then turn to cloth both soft and light. Against your skin I’m often worn, a cozy friend from plant life born.

First is a thing that is held-a concert or gala-a word that covers both or substitutes for either. Second lies in the distance, forever sought, but never reached, no matter how far you go. Put together, I am the edge of a black hole-the point from which light can no longer escape.

A silent opera of the jaw, opening wide like a lazy lion's roar, contagious as a giggle, yet not a sound is heard. An unspoken call to rest, yet the day is just beginning.

Form of poetry Oftentimes about nature With Japanese roots

Carefully placed ingredients, in clear visioned forms. A small portion of nature, never touched by a storm. A spritzing pre seal, ecosystem appeals, self sustaining, space waning, never feigning the real.