Nature touches us the same
but you are blind in my world,
and I am a misfit in your circle
of circles, of circles, of circles.
You perceive me as complicated
and deep, but I am as simple as
red earth and blue sky.
You self-proclaimed wise child,
look, I wear too many clothes to fit
in among bare-breast middle-agers
and wide-bottom moon gods.
My vehicle is too “narrow”
for a wide, multi-lane highway
to deathbed look-backs and women
who wish they had danced.
You belong among temple dwellers
and incense drinkers, among searchers
and seekers of the “hidden” while I
am a sparrow’s sister.
My mind has traveled with you,
with others. I have tasted eastern fruit
and desert laws, but find my solace
in holding hands.
Thank you, dear Michael.