In the orchard stands 

an ancient oak that dwarfs all 

in mystical grace

Sometimes darkness will

get the better of you and set 

a body supine 

Keep typing, talking, 

and tootling along, stumbling 

towards infinity 

An empty can tossed 

from a car window — sloth

or provocation? 

The insects invade,

come crawling, covering all

with hunger and lust 

Each morning he walks 

to the river without a 

word from his blank face 

In the garden the 

dead whisper to the living 

"your time is coming"