We Ran This World

Where do we go from this point in which

we sit so miserably, facing each other

gracelessly, because of the lack of remembrance

of a time, when we stood atop a buried hill

at some ocean-side piece of land,

more hidden than what was shared

at that moment in time?

A carelessness that was more beautiful than you could ever know.

A lack of direction that put two on a podium

causing ire by everyone who stared.

We loved it: A final year to parade atop the world.

Wind blew your hair to pieces

that won’t leave my mind,

until you die, or I forget,

neither will occur.

Paloma

A tradition of Siena goes for centuries.

Perhaps, a quintessential Italian grape.

The limey clay it springs from

makes it just right for the first course.

Some detect a note, but I often catch the elusive apple,

Made to keep intact,

One of the most seductive of the year:

an aroma and flavor suggestive of an early May morning.