The days fold and creaselike paper in my hand.
Plant a seed and germinatea conversation,if not forgiveness.
In the sunshine, I may writea happy poembeneath a feijoa tree,while the spiderwebs clingto its twigs, a splayso brittle…
I know that I had fallenas a good fruit should;to strike the groundwith my fructose goodness,my sweetness, with nary a bruise.
I hurt, ache todayand shower was diffuse;unable to define my substance.
My door opensto a sometime carnival…