A dreamer rapt in cumulus
traces lazy loops of plans
across the skies with wince and sigh
fatigued to have such heavy thoughts
on such a careless day as this.

The doer, down below, peers up,
wiping sweat from sunburned brow
- the firmament, no sign of rain -
and pries a buried lockbox free
on such a crushing day as this.

The dreamer yawns and stretches wide:
rainbow grazing open hand.

The doer digs and finds the key,
unbolts apparent "treasure chest."

The dreamer sees and craves the gold,
leaping outright from the cloud.

The doer takes a break and laughs:
how the pyrite glimmers so.