Floating down a sluggish stream
under bed covers. It’s night and
Trail Mix tempts. Kersplash, a fish.
A whipporwill’s call. Can’t share
Trail Mix with a dream bird.
Comfy, moored in the here and now
like it or not. Like it.
Here it all makes sense.
Don’t say why, say how.
Why pre-supposes an
of reason, as in Truth.
in graduate school with
wonder and growing edges.
How to grow more before
I stop dead? How?