The Maine woods. The coastal woods. Where coming into Spring he resides, is at home. Where he keeps a fire burning

Land dwellers. Sea rovers. Tillers. Spelunkers. Before you ask the questions many ask; have asked since man

Those many, sung and unsung, who gave themselves, often gave up their lives, to fight, in wars,

The limpa from Scandinavia. The ciabatta, and the michetta from Italia, also known as Rosetta. The mantou from China.

I’m glad for mine. The long, aquiline form of it. The way it has shaped, informed my face;

As I awakened to this morning, eyes still closed, I was thinking of you, long-gone Mom and Dad,

Quite a sight to behold: a woman of sun, reclining on the grass, in a meadow, abundantly recumbent, hair and limbs lush with heat

A man rides his bicycle on the sea. Salt rubs the tires. Sun reflects on the soles of his shoes.

Motoring solo through the immense, silent, parted heart of the forest of Chinon. The birdsong air

Red lights flaring like Roman candles at empty intersections. Headlights wanding like blind men’s sticks

However tender, and moist. The golden skin, supremely crisp. The stuffing,

All the way. Your eyes, senses, sensibilities. Fill them

The only thing warm tonight in the deep winter sky ~ and soon to occlude. The Wolf Moon, Ice Moon, Old Moon.

Yes. And the rivers. The wind and the rain. The wildflowers. The marshes