The road erupts into a field of daisies.

Mailboxes pull themselves out of the ground and begin to dance.

The dogs join them as their leashes turn into circling glittering smoke—

(their owners into frozen statues of disbelief).

Blades of grass become epic green things dancing in the wind,

caterpillars into butterflies,

fish into birds,

fetus into child,

rain into harvest,

day into night—

and the humans, perplexed only for a moment before the corners of their mouths float upward, stretched well beyond their face, taken by smiles that melt them entirely—

turn into crescent moons.

This life is a wild, sacred thing.

What do we need—to get it?