Fields

I only have one.

I'm not blocked by roofs, awnings, or sills because I can see the whole of things...

The way the blue stretches over the glass sphere like a stretch of sheet.

The feathered, delicate ones, who, unlike me, flit across the blue in double span.

The shines, as they blink in succession, one by one, grasping my attentiveness, yet but only for a while.

The one that I have confines me to this halo of frosted metal, but I am not blocked.

I can see the whole of things.

There's a flame way off in the distant massive stretch of blue that burns all through the dark as it does the blue that rarely stops to rest.

The tall, green-then-tan stalks move with the breath that also moves the shadows, have now disappeared which increases the way I see across the stretch.

Every season it's the same. The houses were gone behind the green-then-tan and they reappear when the colorful death fills the expand.

There are also the ones who have two.

They move about, back and forth, cleaning up the colorful death that fell from the places where the feathered, delicate ones abode.

I always found the colorful death to be beautiful.

I wonder if the ones with two see the colorful death the way that I do.

And it makes me sad.

Not for me, who only has one.

But for them, who never notice that they have two.