EVERYTHING PASSES, BUT IS IT TIME?

Sunset same color as maple tree

In my neighbor’s yard—

Nature and nature head-butt,

Golden persimmon.

                                     And if the stairs to paradise

Are that color, who wouldn’t put his old Reeboks down?

Gently, however, O so gently.

The membrane of metaphor is weak,

                                                                 and has no second step.

“Don’t play too long, don’t play too loud, and don’t play the melody.”

Nature’s deaf to this beautiful injunction.

                                                                        And that’s okay.

One should live one’s life as an acolyte walking into the temple,

Oblivious, the heavens exploding around you,

Your heart conflicted, your footfalls sure.

Time is your enemy,

                                     time and its fail-safe disgrace.

Open your arms, boys, take off your shirts.