pulling the weeds
the layman, cursing
the heat

~

the monk, wiping
his brow
says a prayer

~

the master
pulling the weeds

~

together
in a field
under the sun

~

piece of paper
written on, crumpled up
poems in my shoe

~

sun in the soil
reflective face
quartz in the bank

~

shaking hands
church-goers
step into the street

~

Philadelphia
birds on a stoop
brothers

~

in the library
every sound echoing

~

low orange clouds
city at night

~

noticing my mind
tripping off the curb

~

stale taste
spliff
gone from where I left it

~

my Grandfather's friends
explaining absinthe
as I drink it

~

broken tea cup
how I love to look at it!