Gray
skies on breeze

Whispers
of a new season.

 

Human
needs force me open to

Vibrate
wider

Inevitable
sustenance.

 

How
do the trees do it?

They
have no fear

and
they never fail.

 

Bushes
sweet with berries

teasingly
tart.

 

Birds
quiet, sleepy eyed

with
deep clouds comforting.

 

Geese
going south

honk
as they pass.

 

Fear
is holy.

Be
lace and cover fear

with
holes to breathe.

See
through the fear.

See
through the holes to the holy.

 

The
lace flowers

are
not easily picked

griping
onto the earth

with
a tight strong grasp.

Me
too.

 

I
am to be under cover

I
am to be mowed.

8/06 and 8/09