These leaves may seem
Like a reminder of past glory
These leaves may seem
Like a reminder of future possibility
But the leaves
Are just leaves
All the rest is just stories
I tell myself to make sense
Not of leaves
But of my own existence
These leaves may seem
Like a reminder of past glory
These leaves may seem
Like a reminder of future possibility
But the leaves
Are just leaves
All the rest is just stories
I tell myself to make sense
Not of leaves
But of my own existence
By a simple accident of birth
Runway clears
Now aloft
Miles high
Above the smog
Crisp blue sky
First in weeks
Smogless air
First I’ve breathed
Imprecise
Imperfect
Reminded
I am an organic being
Cradled in a manufactured world
And my notions of beauty
Have been filtered
By the means of manufacture
It’s an intense study of subject I don’t feel comfortable exploring with people. I tell myself, “I’m getting too much in someone’s face,” but I know it’s just as much putting them in my face. The subject has eyes, and a mind, and both are looking right back at me. Too intimate!
Trickster
Thief
Monkey on a roof
Keep your
Bananas
Close
Refreshed by the cool breeze
Chilling the fire
Of the hot sun
Atop the curvilinear delights
Of hillocks dappled
With grasses and pines
Where even infinity seems so close
I could touch it
Right there
As the curve of the Earth
Rounds the line
Where ocean meets the sky
Exploring the infinity
Beyond my ken
What I love most about existence
As a mother purifies herself
In the waters of the holy Ganga
While her daughters prepare
To leap in, yet again