I like sweet and salty but my craving is oily butter soaking the toast, the creamy squeeze in each bite before it slips down the throat or slathered over corn on the cob, my lips and chin shining as I pull away coconut chewed to release the sweet white fat till only dry fibers stick to my teeth whipped cream, of course ice cream, even better nuts, seeds, chips, all kinds, anytime yeah, they are like a fix, an injection of heaven when I just can’t take one more bite

if my desert mockingbird were to travel to Nebraska would it need to sing whippoorwill, pheasant, grouse and meadowlark, must it forget its past, forge a new life, an odd bird in a strange land? I almost moved to Portugal – new language, new climate, new food, different traditions unknown bird life but I decided to stay here, surrendering to the nest that will be my last home this place of familiar trees places to eat, easy friends, simple takeoffs and landings, and

perfect Saturday morning sun bouncing on my face walkers, joggers, dogs, bicycles I run my hand over a soft-leaf bush Why do butterflies never seem to know where they’re going? the sidewalk is fascinating – what grows in cracks, I kick stones there’s a gray lump ahead, a rabbit sprints across the street right by a little white dog, one ear up,the other folded down, who stares back at me How come they’re like that? stupid question from one adult to another except rig