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lemon wedgeon the glass's edge--olfactory flavor
on papera spiral seems inside out--in life outside in
the steady clack-clackof people walking--airport terminal
red-haired manin the lobby with a pear--rusty pocket knife
in the backyardat the fish frymostly raw
in the gardennot a creature stirs--the scent of blood
in the ditchby the highwaya dozen wilting roses
clad head to foota young man with a macheteforging a trail
in the firepitblackened cordwoodwinter's embers
along my frenzied pathsitting in meditationenlightened yogi
I walk a lotfor exercise,but it just feels so pedestrian.
at nightwhen my shadow hidesi understand lonely
another eveningwatching movies alonewith my love
Amish-builtin the meadow -- once a shednow a studio