Selected Poems
Egg Timer
When we have been here a thousand moons
then we can count time by the lives of trees.
How worthless is the handshake of trusted men
compared to decades of embrace of trees overhead?
They observe our best laid plans run amuck and awry.
Sunrise boils and melts into the horizon
for breakfast we eat soft six-minute eggs
with small silver spoons, in warm homage.
Happier sunlight still drips on our chins.
We wait for the toast to arrive, in shade.
Squirrels mistake egg yolks for acorns
bury the sun in a sticky shallow hole.
