Sheaves of corn

Somewhere here I downed a kingfisher and tasted tobacco
Eyeballing the present with a sweet sureness that was so real

Or so it seems

I remember who was with me then and now is lost in many ways 
None so full as when the sun poured sharp and clean somewhere here 
When the grass bit our tongues as only a dream can come true

Or so it seems

Unslurred thoughts words and deeds were defined without a blur 
And every grain of sand was a closed metaphor unto itself

Or so it seems

Somewhere here there was elbowroom for sheer fantasy 
And nearby there were easy means of bringing them to life

Or so it seems

A soft breeze teased the tamarind trees above our uncaring heads
The thrum of insects in the distant bushes strummed the air
And from the hazy edge of my gaze splashes of spilling color 
Fortyfived into bursting focus as flowers wild enough still to be snuffed

Or so it seems

A disfiguring battle must have raged through this spot
Because the hand of time alone could not have waged this much

Or so it seems

What is here now is of no account one way or the other 
Except as far as it takes away from what was here then 
Leaving me to weigh the possibility that the sun did not pour 
The grass did not bite, the tamarind trees never were
And she was not with me here on that day
And that something somewhere left me gathering sheaves of corn

Or so it seems