If he could see you now. Really see you. Take you entirely in. As you are now, in these days, places

Quite a sight to behold: a woman of sun, reclining on the grass, in a meadow, abundantly recumbent, hair and limbs lush with heat

A sure sign of soon-coming Summer. Another sweet, salt-aired Summer.

It’s an early Spring morning of bellsong and birdsong, sunsong

Land dwellers. Sea rovers. Tillers. Spelunkers. Before you ask the questions many ask; have asked since man

Of my family name. One day, 150 years ago. In a Castle Garden where Jenny

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

Blonde head under baobab. Sun under shade. You sit on an African day,

The keys to the house, or car. The address of a restaurant. The grocery list. The name of a tree or bird or passing acquaintance.

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

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

All the way. Your eyes, senses, sensibilities. Fill them

The only thing warm tonight in the deep winter sky ~ and soon to occlude. The Wolf Moon, Ice Moon, Old Moon.

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