Yellow Sweater

Forgotten newspaper 
found its way into my fireplace. 
And now it is burning. 

Each day another tragedy, 
each day another god sacrificed.

We humans are good at making worship mundane.

I tended the small garden outside my small cottage for many years. I grew peas and poppies and rosemary. It was a nice garden.

Before they filled it with unflappable vagabonds,
My grandparents’ house was an old hardware store.

Now it's full of salmon, paper, and coats. 

They made poetry out of the rough wood,  

The friction of the universe 
is a subtle thing. 

Infinite tangents in a curve. 
Time and space get caught in my throat 
when I try to breath. 

There is so much infinity
in the grey sky, 

“I am truly free. I am not burdened by caring. I am not tied to anything, not my beliefs, not even my own self preservation. I have escaped time.” 

The impressionistic ecstasy of you in a field of flowers.