Some see different things. I heard them chatting as they exited. They talked about the green meadows and how they saw a young girl skipping fast, barefoot through the grass, how she giggled and sung so much that she fell down breathless and continued her journey through the clouds as her eyes perused the beautiful day.
It’s as if they see what they want, or better yet, they see what they came for.
Oh, there are reconnaissance words, ever stealthy in their movement forward, crouching and crawling on belly, as if an eager enemy would pounce at a moment. My mind, my mind is their place to wage war, and there are many the soldier-words who march through my unwary mind.