The wind blows over our days and scatters them like scruff.
If you cannot accept the past at least accept the present.
Go outdoors where the heat is now,
Where the brush is now,
The bending is now.
There are so many things that shutter what haunts--
A chipmunk we named Doug,
A cardinal who courtship feeds his lady,
Some feathers (left by a fox?),
The hawks that sit on the fence,
Dragonflies over the water . . . .
by nina naomi
No comments:
Post a Comment