Where gray polyvinyl chloride meets Drying strands of grass, like wheat Which makes no grain, only waves In sunlit breezes through the day. Chairs older than my oldest tooth Wear metal grating wound with roots From ivys which do not know poison, Only sweet tea, coffees, the noise one Makes when they step into the morning After a night full of dreams like warnings. The wind chimes snake-rattle, the mint leaves Attempt infinity, bound in a pot that won't keep. And the sun loves me here. He sings To the top of my head, and makes me king.
Daily odes to wonderful things in my life.