I chuckle at the characters I pass on the sidewalk to think each started as the boring pair of leaves every seed sprouts before adding the spines of cactus the sinews of trees the smirks and smiles of gardenias and petunias this collection and many more part of an earthly circus inside the world’s terrarium, performing under some badly cracked glass

the sun is king here but not the always the nicest, ruling a kingdom stretched between heaven and a burning hell like servants, we feel the master’s mood and quickly move inside when it becomes too hot-footed outside and wait to dine under the stars, stroll with the moon, then run errands during his softer morning gaze so why live here? the balm of winters heals the scorch of summers and there’s a strange pleasure in watching those who are caught, running from his

suddenly, I feel fragile as existence presses harder remembering the willow I was in a summer’s wind, I now sway very little from the gusts of life and I know, we know, how breakable begins, the tiny faults no one perceives, the fractures inside our lengths that appear last on the surface we, of glass trunk, ceramic branch and leaves of dry skin, stand stiff in the cold twilight