How old is time today?
Or the clock that set me to grunt and moan?
Or how about an illustration of what 
distracted me from God

in my youth?  
                                A thin strand connected
to a kite flown by a freak,
so unsettled,
the poor dog couldn’t bury a bone.  Or find home.

It isn’t everyday we see apple leaves in a supermarket, 
is it? What we experience small is significant, 
and as they say—there are no big deals—
and it’s a curse to be fortunate. 

This is why I light candles for you. Only your face and eyes 
most black, are what I want most by my lonesome.