Post Script Sonnet

I'm not alone. Everyone desires real dirt

on the ground. Comfortable hiking boots.

Quick-drying paint. Friendly taco vendors.

Nothing compact and limiting. A sky clear

enough to trace with your finger. Fresh air

for the tuba. Bowls of orange sherbet. All

the honeycomb that's left. Journeys short

enough not to be tiring. Baited fish hooks.

More clover than grass. Unseasonably

warm weather for February. Grapes on the

vine. Lawn chairs. Scented candles. A pair

of changeable underwear. Pine cones worth

collecting. Deer sightings. Harmonica fit for

background music. Romantic words with the 

voltage to generate their own power. Belfry

views. Piano in the dark. Death that's smart

enough to stay away from our rocking chairs.


words: Maurice Oliver, Oregon (CS Review)
photo: Anne-Katrin Barth, Germany


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