a turkey buzzard

perces on tree limb at noon

it wait for roadkill

Let us get this bread

We finessed the bakery

When it is bread time

Appetite unmatched

Who can rival its hunger?

Make peace with your fate.

From desolation,

the final ember survives,

should i watch it die?

even a soft rain

fells trees with roots planted in

too dusty a soil

The cool breeze drifts through,

time feels as if it has slowed

I breathe in the air.

How can we say we

are good, yet fight in wars in

which there is no bad?

How did samurai

keep such honor in a world

in which there is none?

Why is the sky blue

or the grass green? I know not,

yet I am happy.

The Mariners eye

oft still calls out to me and

seeks to tell its tale.