Who hasn't woken to the sound of the wind and
wondered why. The first light of morning is never
caught by the net of leaves in the neighbor's juniper.
Sometimes it's spilled wine spread through a cocktail
napkin. Sometimes it's water. Always it leaks.
The heartbeat of the sun is 11 years. Doesn't it tire of
turning? I'd still rather be than be dust. But I'm learning.