The art of getting through
like a canvas filled with sadness,
a word that causes thought
yields us to our common steps.

Standing on the desert butte
just as the sun goes down,
within the orange magnificence
I stretch to kiss the clouds.

A look-at-me-I'm-sexy waitress
working for her tips,
one whiff of her flavored naughtiness
I can't help but flirt a bit.

A garden path with the smells of spring
the flowing creek where the bullfrog sings
the bountiful grass around my apple tree
a handful of dirt settles my energy