Radiant is thou, wafting through the forest,
I remember the time
we pranced around fellow tourists.
I judge when I live,
so I think while I breathe,
I dislike a taste for negativity,
& question my pity for the green—
Where are the echoes?
Must I always pick up on the universal radio?
Over & out, the channel of thought,
I guess I’ll release
that which I cannot.
’Tis no big deal,
a rod of lightning stole my face,
woke with the sun on my back,
no more doubt to trace,
I am certain in hope & reality,
I enjoy, very much, the skinny elephants of Dalí.
If big were the picture, where would I be?
Lost in a maze —
or lounging in Chekhov’s cherry tree?