love gently; tread with

sitting in the beergarden
(one of many names given
this place) after being invited
down to hear from bounty hunters
about getting the guy they've been
seeking for weeks.

social situations seen from solitary
perspective, relentless sense of self
as pieces of the tree fall to white flower
buds no longer on the ground. instead of
hitting their intended target, they fall into our
hair and their beer and my can of diet soda - at
one point i put an empty on top of the can so the
pieces of tree wouldn't fall into my drink and i sank
back into the chair and the moment soaked into who
i am and i attempted to casually interact, as if i had such
company all the time. eyes look to mine. hesitant laughter.
hidden smile. stretch. tired lines of life listlessly listen.

and none of this captures what was,
and me admitting that to you, the
reader, well, that makes this so
unpoemlike. um, like, poem?
yes. that's me. under the
tree, being rained on
by vegetation while
talking to two new
visitors as well
as doyle, the
60something
year old man
carousing and
grasping onto
the last few
moments of
life as it too
falls to the
ground to
flowers no
longer
around,
swept away
by landlord.

washburn guitar.

new guests.

a couple.

as they left
walking down
the alley toward
the door on the
north end, i saw
them open it and
leave and interact
and become once
again part of that
world only there
when there's
the two of
them. just
a flash, a
single scene
seen from a
distance and
it's enough to
imagine what
it's like perhaps.

love gently;
tread with caution
and reckless abandon.