My son dropped me off at a retirement home today.
I was sitting in the lounge room,
reading a book,
when a man about my age,
wearing a flat cap,
walked by and sat in an easy chair.
He asked me, "I've never seen you around before. You new here?"
And I replied, "No, I'm actually quite old."

I once sat in the park with a dear friend of mine
As yellow bugs scurried over our legs and fingers.
We talked about most everything
Friends, our mutual distaste for chocolate, love.
For hours we sat against a mighty oak tree
And mulled over the mild philosophy of mid-adolescance.
Despite the fact that I had been fiddling with a daisy chain for the past hour and a half
And despite the fact that we were about to miss class
I felt rather grown up at that moment
And I wished never to wake from our sleepy discussion.

I grew up today.
I unpacked, practiced smiling in the mirror, and then proceeded downstairs to chitchat.
"How grown up!", thought I, the act of chitchatting to be.

I sat on the curb today
And I thought.
I asked myself some rather difficult questions
Only to look to the traffic lights for some sort of revelation.
Still I sat and contemplated
Turning thoughts and questions over in my head like blueberry pancakes.

I've always known summer to be sweet and simple
A void that lies between the stepped hells of the first world
Each hell is greater than the last
And each void is sweeter than the next

Laying down on the cool, wet grass,
Watching the colors of the sky fade to black,
And reaching out to grab the moon with my small hands.
Listening to the purple waves, crashing into shore,
And waiting for the stars to come out.
Reflected in our eyes are the shapes of disappearing clouds,
And our bare feet are painted with white sand and sprinkled mud.
I return to you each year to respire.

Summer wanes with the grace of a swan.
Weaving silver thread through a park canal,
And dipping off toward the horizon.
Making my hands perspire with excitement
And my eyes dewy with exhaustion.