shirt soaked
grime under his fingernails
slumped in the truck’s
front seat my gardener
leans out the window
smiles and asks over
the idling engine
and I think to myself
how difficult it must be
to tell her himself
drained at the end of
another 10-job day
so I reply OK
knowing he’d like for her
a special treat
something she’ll
never expect
something like
a diamond
cut from words
he cannot say
today the clouds are ice flows in an artic blue ocean steppingstones my mind skips over trying not to fall in not as slow as a polar bear would creep across the sky hunting for its thing in another wo
day is obstacles duties hustle mental mazes sensual skirmishes it is here and now front and center talk and listen running with the light hiding in shadow night is full of emptiness days of swallowe
if you’re able-bodied on a boat with oars would you help paddle to reach land? this world is a sinking ship desperate to find safe harbor and frankly I doubt we’ll make it without all hands on deck ba