Last dew glimmers on grass and gives in, winking off til tomorrow: there’s no shame yielding to this sun
Rugged boots on hiding flesh and bone that still shakes a little I step forth onto schizophrenic paths that for now are solid
Today, the verge incense sways and envelops, intoxicating, masking the usual decay and loss enabling a contemplation that holds til yappy pups cut it, angry that no one made them bigger