return

the man fell

the temple rose
in sweet ash

truth to
impose

desert

nothing is there
and so
i will be

blueberries

slip into my fingers from the sweetened tips of twigs

berries

dogs plop in the pond
having come full circle
sniffing, smelling, scouting, searching
for the furries of the farm

i slowly stroll behind them
with my little bag of berries
and my itchy scratchy arms.

pollen

flows into my crevices and flowers into phlegm.

honey

i'm in the bees. they smell my breath. they do not fear the sting of death, and only let me take as much as they decree.

it's good when such sweet sticky stuff can glue true friends both old and new.

i look at them, and know they're True.

seed

dropped pink plopping corn seed to the ground in the center of the hallowed spot, then turned and turned a twisting swirl outward from the center, stopped, and softly shuffled dirt with naked feet from side to side until the meat from last year's tender ears now dried and dyed for planting here is covered with a softened dust.

earlier I scraped the stones from ground to smooth the dirt into nice beds of flattened soil. my skin exposed, no tanning oil to come between the Sun and me, and wind sweet wind.
I smell.
I see.