In a myriad of
daftly sown seeds
I write down a few
sparing words
and see if you can be
with me,

Traversed by the lonely
world,
gardner of changing beauty,
Travelled by the
lonely lane, grown
of pain.

Rusted frogs
under a shady tree,
leaves overhead,

The setting sun grazes
the leaves and apples
with a golden green glow.

When you pick an apple you have to
turn the eye of the apple
to the sky.

Don't pull, twist or tug,
just turn the eye
to the sky.

Conscious and complete
the living moment.