I lie still and levitating
In a spring field serene and mild.
The gentle breeze is quite sedating;
My head rests on a tuft of cloud.

Tall grasses, wheat, and rye stretch up;
They’ve tickled my fancy for hours.
A spattering of buttercups,
Purple pieces of wildflowers,

Bedraggled dandelion whelps,
And blossomed blackberry brambles
Provide the reverence that helps
My mind focus as it ambles.

No part of my body touches
Another—no pressure or pain.
The warm sun’s eager paintbrushes
Envision my face. A refrain

Of boisterous birds is muted
Like butterfly wings flying by
And the white tails, who are suited
To let meditating men lie.

There is no sound that I can hear,
Nor the witnessing goldenrods
That line the trees on all sides clear
To the horizon and the gods.

I’ve pushed allergens far from thought
So that they cannot afflict me.
I’m cool and tranquil, though I’ve fought,
As the stream tarrying to see

What’s not seen in a century,
A wonder worthy of old Greece,
Such a peculiar oddity—
Me, finally resting in peace.