I sit on soil savoring my rest.
butterflies hover around my shoulders.
I open my chest to the breeze,
content with a piece of bread in my hand,
and the sight of a sleeping sea
etched in my eyes.
once in a while, a lonely primrose reels them in.
I watch her sway gently in her frail way.
and I wonder if she sees me too.
does she want me to get closer?
in her eyes, how do I look?
what does she think I am?
my eyes return to myself,
watching nothing but the blur of my being,
the sleeping sea that never moves,
and seagulls stuck in a stationary frame.