Fell asleep
beneath your fallen boughs,
woke with luck at
dusk.
The thickest air,
my private patio,
your fallen black and blue,
a perfect towel,
for lounging
in the setting sun,
my pool.
Forgetting pride,
within your shadow
I reveal what poets
hide.
My verse,
a final minty kiss
on scarred higher ground.
My hands
caress the hillside’s
flushed, sunburnt neck.
Then, I turn and face,
a blossoming sunset.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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