I had come to rest on the grass tilting a painted fan to cool me only the grass knows I am here and the thin mustard sunlight peeking from behind buttermilk clouds
Had it rained? I felt nothing but my damp palms raised above my head
Now and again I notice shiny leaves floating on the pond should I go in naked on such a day as this when only the branches and leaves peer down at me?
There is no sign of decay here like in winter and in my old age surrounded by death I feel a need to define my place in the broadest of terms
I was here once like a branch bobbing in the wind with birds watching from hidden perches I was here once
