In the left-hand corner,
sun, moon and stars
are neatly organized,
like airborne contents
of a bowl of fruit.

To the right, a shooting star
makes an audacious dash for freedom,
panicking the clouds,
and plunging its dagger of light
into a darkly forested hill.

The tiny house is left unscathed,
to rue the overwrought dentition
of its picket fence.
The stick-men with the axes
do not break their stride.