often alone   colin

working

long hours   i walk

my

evening walk   to

golden hills   over

my shoulder

ancestors see what i see   as god 

sketches the view   the

breeze

holds my attention

the sound   the

chill   an absence

of heat

dry grass rustling   aural

manifestation

of breeze   

~

golden hills   live

oaks

pass me by   i pass them by

alone

hardly

less alone

a still life

unstill   

a scape of more than land

it is

as i choose   

a family reunion   a temple   

a cacophony   distant

traffic   

nearby birdsong   grass

shushing

shadow trailing longer

narrower

to the east   sun

low

miming my antics

should 

i chose antic   somber

should i choose 

somber

rhythmical   should i choose that

~

still moments

bring 

deafening babel   

unsettle

my mind

touch terror   i am

alive   

miming

breeze driven golden

grass   stout

oak limbs

look up   passing clouds

look   birds

look

~

were colin with me

he would see   

hear   

be   as i am

we are alike that way