Yellow Orchids

Did you paint these clouds with the white paper cranes

that kissed me,

As a child to yellow orchids in my sleep?

For those orchids were offered by a hand unknown,

that flits through my dreams of pollen;

And when its wings tire, it sheds from its feet

The grain from my dreams

Suspended by a cotmobile

As sunlit breath tumbling down your nose,

Intertwining itself with dewy low-hanging leaves;

And from that grain emerge yellow orchids

That the string-tied arm braids with the twine

shielding my eyes