Sometimes in life
We get used
To where we
Are so used
To in fact
That those sweet
Summer breezes and
Wet grass tickles
Turn normal until
Oh they’re gone
And then we
Miss them with
A full orchestra
Of heart ache
Instead perhaps we
Should ask another
What they see
And accept that
Those norm things
We have indeed
Are the treasures
That others seek
Once again enjoying
Each other’s sweet
Summer breezes and
Wet tickling kisses
At the very
First crack of
Light on the
East like a
Lamp seen on
The floor beneath
The door morning
Starts here with
The sweet delicate
Sounds of birdsongs
Much like you
Start next to
Me opening one
Eye halfway letting
Me see you
Sleepily bathed in
Quiet morning newness
And finally when
At last you’re
Finished and think
Of yourself as
Blissfully single a
Dense fog rolls
In from the
Cape catching you
Dancing upon cliffs
Spinning and shining
Your self-loving heart
In all directions
Attracting ships freighters
Frigates and moths
Lonely and desperate
Out at sea
The sky is
Marbled this morning
Like a fatty
Steak or Piazza
Flooring streaked with
White showing age
Large god like
Foot prints dig
Heavily into its
Blanket of grayness
Like lumbering giants
Wobbling home from
The bar morning
Sun is only
Seen through slits
Like a lone
Lamp through blinds
I think while
Sipping black coffee
Watching steam rise
Off the pond
Like waiting locomotives
Autumn has arrived
In the south
Bringing crispness like
That very first
Very sweet crack
Of an apple
And that first
Sweet morning sound
Arrived by way
Of bird songs
As the East
Began to glow
Sapphire blue and
Cobalt and pink
Like the sky
Was velvet strewn
With precious diamonds
Someone should paint
This I think
So I have
With these words
See with me
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 