Musings: A Palate Cleanser
Voices squiggle like worms
visiting, talking worm talk
around the neighbor’s pool.
*
Halos of clouds
mimic the trees.
We are all reaching toward the sky.
*
They call it “forest bathing.”
We called it tromping through the woods.
Vines shoved aside,
Leaves crunched.
Always the wind
held close to the body by the trees.
*
How did we come to define visbility
as reality?
The windchimes sing.
Palms rustle.
In the background, the surf hums.
All movement is from the invisible.
Taste is invisible.
The chill radiating from my toes, invisible.
Sewage that staggers me backwards,
invisible.
Reality comes in tiny bites.
Joe Hawes
Lovely. Very poetic
Ellen Morris Prewitt
Thank you, Joe. These came during my contemplative writing I call “present writing,” which is a terrible name.I’m open to suggestions.