Sometimes I’m a little fearful
I exist for one thing
the merging of my being with what I’m seeing,
hearing, experiencing

the moon, a friend,
a tree

Am I escaping something?

No, I’m adding at least,
that is part of the dance
there in the
and purple
Reflections of sunset
Rusty anti-advertising coneflowers
turning purple
The curling windows of the church
drenched in a tumbling
skyline from the
Crispy old writers room-come pocket park
not knowing
where I’m going
which is a very good thing