A Scavenger of Pearls

The tears fall when they are ripened.
“Why have they fallen?” they ask.
I sigh and show the whites of my eyes.
After all this time, how can you, yourself, refrain from picking when there are so many just waiting to fall to the ground.

I try to connect to my car — pushing down into my seat — to the tires on the road, to the road on the earth’s crust, to the earth’s crust on its warm, crackling, blood red core.
To feel the smooth curves of the winding roads as I pass them.
As I pass the trees who also drop their ripened fruit and deadened leaves.

I’m so alone — lost my way in my own head.
There are people all around me and I’ve gone somewhere else.
I cannot be present when the present is only enjoyable in memories past. You remind me that I’m wrong, and there you are.

“Do you want to go see the cows?”
“Yes!” I exclaim through snot and reddened cheeks.
The scavenger drives along a crunchy, graveled path down the road in search of the rarest fruit.
If anyone could find the precious delicacy of pearls it was he.

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