She is gentle
She's the pencil, that writes Good love upon this stained physique, she's rock and rolls momma, body not ending with any comma's, the wife of my ending age. The girl I
Remember, at 21, showing a young boy what it means to be
A man, to let go of rage.
She's my main stage.

Under a
Canopy of trees
Seeing the sunlight
Through the leaves.

Born to create
Within myself
The Universal debate.

Standing
On the corner
Lips licking my chops
Hoping for a drink of water
Waiting for a cool breeze.

Out on
The ocean
Not sure of the date
Going by
The compass
I'm sure you can relate
Looking toward the stars
To help me navigate.

Up high
Above the clouds
In a widow seat
I look across it all
What it is
That is healthy
What is is that's diseased.

And I need to state
The awe of it all
Fills me with grace
And brings me to my knees.

Across the reflective fields of Hill Country grass begins to escape its icy enclosure ..Black Angus leave red clay impressions bound for green pastures ..Mourning doves wail their somber retreat as first light exposes the prequel to Heaven .. Blackbirds and smoke from morning bonfires alight , the promise of daylight is scented with Oak and Hickory as fields of cotton appear to ignite . Tin roofs begin to glow , church bells awake villages on the horizon . Golden waves pan Eastern skies , Sycamores sequester abundant sunshine ..Sparrows , Chickadees and Finches gossip without end , Bluejays and Brown thrashers command the fence line once again .
Barbed wire enclosures divide the landscapes , dancing scrub Pines act as reeds , filtering the breeze with the music of natures continuity ..
Blacktop drives ribbon the lonesome acreage , goat herds graze the property frontage . Quarter , Morgan and Appaloosas quietly graze against the backdrop of nineteenth century farm houses .. White silos and red barns , gourd birdhouses , dug wells and smokehouses ..Bantam roosters and hens sift through acorns beneath two hundred year old Water Oaks ..