Our plight is craving perfection
in an imperfect world:
imperfectly perceived,
imperfectly performed,
imperfectly programmed.
To have a mind that can imagine perfection,
but never attain it
creates a special hell vehicle.
pink trumpet flowers,
in dense clustered spheres,
break up spring’s blue sky
fall leaves will drop, and the winter river view will be unhindered.
high tide sweeps
around the beach rocks,
and then they’re islands.
from a speeding train,
i see a fresh-plowed field
in which nothing moves.
golden trumpet
lives up to its name
when sunrise strikes.
autumn orange: to live most brightly just before the end.
There is no breath that's like a breath
that's taken three miles high.
And never so deep was a sleep
after days of light in eye.
And water is the most beloved
when burning thirst is slaked.
To starving souls no gourmet meal
e'er bested bread, fresh baked.
