It arrives on a warm white cloud. It arrives on soft rolls of ocean waves along a sand pebbled shore. It arrives on a bed

The Maine woods. The coastal woods. Where coming into Spring he resides, is at home. Where he keeps a fire burning

Those many, sung and unsung, who gave themselves, often gave up their lives, to fight, in wars,

How deeply are you living, friend? How sense-deep. How heart, and

To ask your Self. In the still of the night, whether bright-starred or half-mooned. In the midst of the day,

Who wore a green plastic visor the color of a ginger ale bottle. Who had a raspy voice and Charles Coburn kind of face. A forever bachelor

The courtly old lady, widowed for decades, and her calico cat, who take each afternoon sun

While countries, armies and ideologies battle, bees make honey. Butterflies float, and drink the nectar from gently open flowers.

However tender, and moist. The golden skin, supremely crisp. The stuffing,

The limpa from Scandinavia. The ciabatta, and the michetta from Italia, also known as Rosetta. The mantou from China.

Red lights flaring like Roman candles at empty intersections. Headlights wanding like blind men’s sticks

Remember that one day you, too, will die. Will cease being here, in body, in breath. Will join all those