June’s calendar,
a wire-grid window
with its diminishing squares
of Kentucky landscape,
my clouded eyes 
able to discern the miniscule
geometry of the life I have
left here. On Friday I fly
to Tampa’s Temple Terrace
and my sister’s condo 
on fucking Alligator Lake
 – I rarely use profanity

Penelope, who seems daughter
more than great granddaughter,
and Narayan. her fabulously
dark and handsome boyfriend,
are driving me to Shakertown
today. A kind of last hurrah 
for Old ZZ & his sacred spaces,
tomorrow it’s High Bridge and
my reveal of what “ZZ” means

In 2010 I came to the peace
of this place, P’s parents’ houseboat.
After my beloved Dr. Tom’s death,
and several severe affairs of mental
collapse, here I finally rested and
found a friend in fellow sailor, 
Jack Teal. We were as chaste as
Shakers but Jack acted more W.C.
Fields than W.C. himself. His humor.
the art of his quirky photography,
he knew how to crack me open.

After all the packing 
& the Shaker Shed Storage Unit,
I’m enjoying morning coolness
on the lake with a mimosa. 
As a Brooklyn born hellraiser,
never thought Kentucky could
get inside me this way

….ah, here’s those two youth
of the world to pick me up
in their Prius