Every center of every one of the infinite universes snugly fit together
Adapting to the landscape and those who are now neighbors
Giving with no expectation of receiving anything, but still receiving nonetheless is the best law of the land
Oh, Moon, how you've been cut to ribbons
How many homeless midwestern poets watch you from their friend's windows as they jot yet another word
The sound of music and the scent of wine and pot move my body to the seasons, the four beats of the year, resounding in time like a metronome, marking occasions
Certain songs will always remind me of certain people
Just like certain seasons will do the same
Children dance and cry out freely
No one scolds them
Men and Women dance freely
No one thinks less of them
"It needs an ending Rebecca, what do you got for me?"
A black bird with a violent red head, like her nail polish, looks for nourishment for this meal.
Not for tomorrow's, just for today's.
Living happily, living lawn to lawn.