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I could use a break,
Exhausted as I am from speaking now,
From speaking earth, from speaking love,
So I swallow my fresh veggies
And go blank as an act of will
Under a caravan of summer clouds,
Up to my shins in wild oregano
In a field of Joe-Pye tall-blooming and
Aflutter with swallowtails, an empty boat
Adrift on an afternoon in August.
If it's true that I'm here by mistake
Better to stop thinking in sentences
And do nothing to speak of,
Making the most of it, not coming back.
