Today, I’m just a painter;
tasked
to see. As if
this could bring forth being -
find, stop, invoke time,
like my California childhood,
or the way sunlight
through a temperate day
‘cross his amber skin, now,
does. Today, I’m just a musician;
consoling a moment
for what eternity
won’t be haggled down
for. Today, I’m just a gardner;
drinking blueberry beer,
and talking to termites,
giving them
my best lesson
in weed whackin’,
and ethnobotany.
COVID is still burning,
capitalism is falling,
the cicadas are coming.
The roses
out front
look best beat up
against a splotched, rolling sky.
Mornings deserve
music. Always, I will be your father,
chasing down the love
we cannot conquer.
|