Many parts of life are miniscule
but love is still solicitous there
the interest of love knows no bounds
in the tiny is the whole of love
and loves whole is everywhere.

Fickle Silver Maples lie forlorn in the -
stillness of Noon , melancholy belles that change -
their sullen tune by the belated , crosswind steamy Georgia afternoon
Dandelion sprinkled prairie of home , bordered in thick , red clay
trenches , kudzu covered period homesteads , Spring peach
and pecan orchards drenched in wild , unabated orchid and coneflower
Sweetgum cones rattle in nightfalls cooling breeze without respite , riverstone retaining walls , whitewashed barns and gravel drives , Bantam hens perch Live Oak branches along flint , cobblestone pathways

There are two voices
Behind my shoulders
Giving conflicting advice.
One says, Reach;
The other, Draw back.
It's a crisis of decision
For the left or right.
These voices meet
Between my ears,
For a synthesis.
So I listen to the third I hear,
One that avers,
*Live life right.