Armchair Zen

A Poet’s Tale

I heard music and
thought of you and clouds
and God and the universe
and babies and dogs and
old men.

I saw the iridescent starling
on the verdant lawn
under the cerulean sky
and Payne’s gray clouds
and also on the bare
winter cherry
awaiting spring
and grubs.

I tasted the hot coffee smelling of campfire
and the liquored kisses,
milk fresh from the cow and
cheese fresh from Vermont
and syrup fresh from our own trees.

I watched a thousand sunsets
from the same window
and marveled at the
October dawn from my
chair in the kitchen,
and sat to write about
all of these things.

Oh, look. It’s snowing.