Noon: Cory Buchanan

Nuzzling bloom dew, 'round the drift of traffic engines, infant yellows flitter. Nestled wings wave the air, melding under windy oaks. Small hops, off thin boughs, dart roughly seen. Tall crowns set, opening a fast glance to the shrouded warbler astray.

Sprout: Cory Buchanan

Struck mahogany burns a sign, reaches that grew to die. Stay and inhale the haze. Pouring a high prayer, cooling nectar dampens the flare, oozing out of branching neighbors. Standing in front view, fermented in dwindled age, a sprout begins on old slate.