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