The Opus Of The Everything

the ocean floor, the twisted sea and
all the flying jacket bees, and all

the flying birds and he, the one who
caught the glint of spring, who laid

it on the downy dew, the crispy green
of May fescue, who saw the plans of built

up lights that burn to light a thousand
pools of dripping rain and puddles lay

on any given night or day, the brick by
brick, the mortar spread, the snap of sugar

sweetly felt, the brine that made it
through the cloud, the opus of the

everything, the great and wide, the heat
of flame, the sun in cold but sunny sky,

the sound of when a child laughs,
the opus of the everything