And now in
this the very
smallest of things 
I’ve found it
hidden no tucked 
deeply inside one 
of my many 
cubbyholes fashioned from 
years of discarded 
disappointments and incomplete 
relationships holes dug
and drilled into 
the very trunk
making trenches which 
now appear as
lines on my 
face and placed
deeply therein trinkets 
trophies and treasures 
tiny little teaspoons 
of dollops desire
squirreled away many
never to be 
found just forgotten 
except this one 

Some days 
my mind 
and heart
woefully disagree 
and my 
soul waits
drumming its 
fingers checking 
its watch
and rolling 
its eyes 

Sprinkle or breadcrumb
taste or try
these little things 
of something else 
made to taunt 
and tease to
moisten or lead
or entice but 
never satisfy for 
hope always suggests 
but rarely delivers 
life does that
forgetting hope’s promises 

Back in the 
valley having only 
yesterday been atop
the mountain I
sit here and 
wonder which came 
first this or
that for surely 
this is what 
was left over 
after that rose
much like flowering
bushes once the 
blooms are gone 

The day here
always starts with 
a series of still
photographs click click
click as the sun
crawls up the 
mountain of sky 
turning back and 
smiling broader than 
the one before 
as if this 
day is the 
first day that 
it’s done this 
such silly joy
every day brings 
in the mountains