Control,
It wasn’t hard letting go of you.
It was hard letting go of the person,
I thought I was when I was with you.

You break me beautifully
split the fabricated flesh
that once felt like silk
under your soft fingers.

A stream and pool, a gentle rain,
The smell of soaking wooded dirt
The feel of slowly cooling air in misty Summer as the gravel crunches beneath the weight of all the hopes and dreams of right now.
A distant call to wonder, a closer call to wander and a hill that hides a long walk back before the night claims victory
Mossy ponds, trails crossing trails and barbed wire blockades that shield from neighborly attack
The low call of bullfrogs and the bickering of birds, all dazzeling and swirling into a great sky of lightly dripping treetops

This beautful force of green and brown and rust and blue and quiet stillness and nature's obedience is everything that will ever matter as far as anyone can tell.

“…you’ll love this riveting memoir.”

One longs to see a memoir riveting,
Setting in place with tongs the hot red steel,
Bucking the tail, and quickly pivoting
For another – a worker’s life is real

Simon and Schuster assure me that I
Will be consumed by J. R. Ward’s new book
But I am neither steak nor apple pie
And probably would be difficult to cook