The old android with whom I am in love.

The decent man who washed my dishes for me and whom I call Friend.
The turbulent road by which I plant my wishes.
The open stream that flows beneath my casket.
The proud holler of a drunken mule sated on soft fallen fruit.
The purloined heart of a passing boy unable to keep his gaze.
The balmy girls alight on the yard's broad plain.
The delicate peal of a distant storm savaging our seedling crops.
The honest croak of a wooden door unopened since the first frost.
The soft brown of your thigh under my hand at the light.

The stoic brine of focus besieged.
The filthy spike with which   I sow these pots in memoriam.
The candid smile that turned my spirit and broke the spell.

The sloppy walk in wet socks across an empty summer deck.