1977 Chevy El Camino passes my house this morning,
lime green and blasting bass,
passes by, back to the quiet of the street on Sunday.
I wonder to myself if these are the years of gold,
trading the edges of steel for a softer metal.
(The kind of non sequitur the mind might find interesting.)
Today, I have the intention to find the joys of my heart,
somewhere between now and the end of the day, I figure.
There’s a lot of softness I find delicious. This Texas mango,
for instance. The sweetness of anticipation for flesh
and desire. The anticipation of love shared. Soft touch.
The sky is bits of blue through white puzzle pieces;
the sun comes through on occasion, golden.
There’s water on the stove and a garden in the backyard,
there’s a record player and a stack of records.
It ain’t about getting old, here, I non sequitur,
It’s about getting more and more and more and more alive.