perfect day

my shocking
emerald day
the shimmering
shining leaves
lay upon the sky
like oily bathing beauties
floating in the sand
on moss-like
terry swatches

shining and soothed
by the warmth of a sun
so hot and clear
these eyes yearn
to look
but cannot
pause long enough
to observe
lest they're burnt
and the iris
contracts
tightly
forever

on that day
that emerald day,
the planet is my dream

I am not alone here
I am known
and I know others

they are all my sisters
my brothers

do I know the emerald day?
do I know the flower of a moment
when I pass away?

That knowledge
is permanently denied
unless I take it upon myself
and even then
the moment will be lost
in the constant decay
of that emerald day