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

It was a wet signature. Full of emotion. Full of eroticism. Still wet, with sweat

Good to mark it each year on the world’s calendar. But I celebrate it every day.

A man rides his bicycle on the sea. Salt rubs the tires. Sun reflects on the soles of his shoes.

What we belong to. What we can point to out there; around us. And what a singular gift. Our innate sentience.

My body. Outstretched. On a deck. Between the Sky and the Earth.

Yes. And the rivers. The wind and the rain. The wildflowers. The marshes

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

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

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.

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

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