The sun hits
The tree tops
Like foamy crests
On ocean waves
All white and
Rolling as the
Sun moves higher
Into the sky
Tree trunks lean
Like firewood against
Each other and
Oh the smell
Of earth bathes
My nostrils there
A damp coolness
Like a refrigerator
Door opening in
July on the
Forest floor as
Dew streaks all
The car windows
I know now
That my time
In Charlotte is
But a resting
Place soon my
Wings will carry
Me to my
Spiritual place somewhere
In the high
Deserts of New
Mexico where I
Will finally roost
And make peace
With my Gods
Oh and then
He said hello
Oh I stared
Squinting from the
Suns glare haloing
Him uncertain how
He looked unable
We simply talked
Like strangers on
A bus until
A cloud covered
The sun and
Saw him and
As suspected there
Stood an Angel
And finally I
Found a mirror
Studied myself in
It saw my
Smile my frown
My cowlick my
Beard saw in
It me and
I in turn
Saw you for
You are that
Mirror reflecting me
I dreamt a
Dream of a
Past lover glee
And good times
Like looking at
Yellowed photographs when
I realized that
People only take
Pictures of happiness
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 